The Undoing and Metamorphosis of Charles Lee Ray
by KAirismatic
Summary: Chucky has always known the life he's had thrown at him. But when a boy turns his world upside down, what will it take for this "Lakeshore Strangler" to realize what he really wants? Hint of Chucky/Andy CAndy , so don't like, don't read. K for language.
1. Where The Story Begins

The night had the perfect atmosphere for the runaway criminal. Dark clouds, a hint of lightning, and just enough rain to keep the pesky detective behind. The investigator was not equipped with the street skills the young teen had. The curvy corners and alleyways were a perfect getaway for Charles Lee Ray, also known by many as The Lakeshore Strangler. Tonight, however, even with these advantages, the infamous murderer was having quite a struggle to evade his pursuer.

Michael W. Norris, former novelist, current detective, had a motivation. To capture and confront this killer had become his life goal. Obsessive? Perhaps, but the ghost of a happy future caused his determination. The ghost choked out her final words to him over and over again as he splashed through the muck of the Chicago streets. "Michael, Charles Lee Ray… he's…"

The boy also had his own inclinations. He would not, absolutely not, ever become encased behind bars again. He had been once, and the experiences he had encountered inside were ones he would rather not have again; in fact, he had trained his mind to believe that they had never happened. But every once in a while, such as now, they would come alive again, tugging at the corner of his mind, whispering in taunting little voices how the cuffs of steel were waiting for him...

The violent throaty coughs caught him off guard. True, he had been falling ill for weeks by now, but he had not expected such a harsh ambush at this moment. Uttering obscene phrases under his breath, he held his stomach supportively as he continued his hasty escape. Turning his head from left to right desperately, he sighed with relief as he found a toy store with glass windows.

The sound of the shattering windows was satisfying to the runaway. He picked out as many shards as he could from his skin and clothes as his mind frantically raced to conjure up a scheme to rid himself of his relentless pursuer. A pile of Barbies and Hot Wheels fell to the floor as he dumped the boxes off the shelves, giving him time to think.

Detective Mike leaped through the broken window- though not as stealthily as he had hoped. (Detective business was never his strong point.) He stood quickly to regain his composure as he scanned his surroundings. A stroke of lightning revealed the trashed aisle of toys. "Aha," he breathed triumphantly. "I've got you now, Charles Lee Ray…" He pulled out his flashlight and stepped forward cautiously. "C'mon, you can't hide forever, Mr. Ray. Come out, come out wherever you are…"

The voice of the detective seemed faded to Charles. His head was pounding, and the store was beginning to spin. Fighting back coughs within his chest, he stumbled into the shelf in front of him and took hold of one of the items. When he took a good look at it, he couldn't decide whether his fever had the best of him, or if what he was seeing was possible. But no matter. He had no time to waste. Familiar words and rhymes slipped into his memory. Smiling, he slid the doll out of its box and held its arms and chanted softly to himself…

_Take meus animus quod servo es near,  
>Vos mos tutela is ex suus vereor,<br>Ut Ego chant illa lacuna vobis,  
>Instruo pro negotium vos es implored efficio<em>…

The boy closed his eyes and slumped to the floor, his tormented body and soul at last in a temporary peace.

Mike rounded the corner of the last aisle and tripped over a doll's body. Holding in a groan of pain, he pulled out his gun for defenses. Charles Lee Ray could be anywhere. It was best to keep guard. But right beside the smiling toy was the crumpled body of the criminal. The detective gasped. "He can't be…" he felt for his pulse, and found nothing. "..dead?"

He wasted no time. Dialing on his phone, the detective had police- and doctors- there in minutes. Caution tape and Warning signs were everywhere. No one could seem to understand what had happened. The capture of the infamous and well-wanted killer should have been victorious; instead, it felt empty and unfinished.

Empty and unfinished could also describe the feelings of the mother and son in their apartment that night. They had received a phone call earlier that the father of the family had died, presumably murdered by a clever assassin. They held each other closely, and the rain and thunder did their best to comfort the two.

The incident did seem to have some positive effect, however. A passing thrift store manager snuck past the caution tape well after everyone had gone and filled a cart for him to take back to his shop. Trucks, cradles, yo-yos, and a seemingly life-like doll were soon an added addition to his crowded shelves.

If the thrift store manager had paid any attention, he would have noticed the steady heartbeat that seemed to come from the doll, whose eyes glinted under the moonlight that shone through the small shop's window…


	2. A Child's Best Friend

_Being on the shelf makes me feel degraded. I don't belong here. Or maybe I do. I am a doll, after all. No one is around at the time, so I take liberty to sigh heavily. The toys around me are smiling and friendly, if they could talk, I assume that is all they would be doing. Happy toys…_

_I fucking hate happy toys…_

***

The little boy was up early. His mother was still sleeping peacefully in her bed. It had been three months since he had last seen his father. Usually, he would be up with Dad, having "man-to-man talks" as his father used to say. Sometimes, if his mother was still sleeping, he and his father would make her breakfast as a surprise for when she woke up.

He was making breakfast alone now. His father was dead.

He was told it was a car accident. Too bloody for him to see, his mother had told him. He cried. To him, it didn't matter. He would have wanted to say good-bye to his Daddy one more time. He wiped away tears before they fell in his mother's cereal bowl. Trying to refocus his thoughts, he turned to the television, which was showing a re-run of a Good Guys episode. The doll's happiness made him feel angry, like the doll had something he was missing. At the same time, it made him want to have it; the Good Guy seemed nice enough, surely whatever joy he had he would share with the boy, wouldn't he?

Wouldn't he?

He poured the milk in slowly, careful not to spill on the counter. You're starting to look like your old man, buddy… His father's voice still rang in his head as he carried his mother's breakfast to her room. "Mommy," he said, trying to drown out old memories. "Mommy, wake up…" His mother was so still, could she be…

"Mommy!" he cried more urgently. Mrs. Barclay woke to the sound of her son. He sounded worried, desperate even. Was the house on fire? She sat up sleepily. "What… what is it, Andy?" she muffled out. He looked relieved. (Sometimes, she really worried about her son.) He smiled. "I made you breakfast, Mommy," he chirped proudly. She looked at the clock. 6:30. She could still sleep an hour before having to get up for work…

She bravely smiled back at her adoring child. "Oh… thank you so much, honey," she said, tucking stray hairs behind his ear. She took a spoonful of the soggy cornflakes. As she watched her son standing there, something ate at her mind. Today, something was today, wasn't it? Something special. Her mind opened up slowly as she began to wake. Of course!

Putting her bowl on the side table, she grasped her son's shoulders. "Guess what day it is?" she asked. Andy's eyes widened with a smile. "My… my birthday," he whispered happily. Mrs. Barclay grinned. "That's right, sweetheart. And you know what? Mommy got you a present…" The expression on her son's face was endearing; he looked so much like his father. Hoping her son would be pleased with what she had managed to get him, the 27 year old slowly led him toward the small closet. Money was so hard to achieve these days.

Andy was looking at the box. It had the right shape, the right size. He was anticipating what was inside. Could it possibly be..? He wasn't sure. Opening the package anxiously, his heart raced with expectance. Unfortunately, it wasn't what he had hoped for. The Good Guys logo was plain as day on the box, but it was as set of tools. He sighed, trying hard to contain his disappointment.  
>Mrs. Barclay knew, of course. She was his mother, after all. Try as he might, Andy could not hide the feelings he had from his mother. Unfortunately, there was nothing either one of them could do. Mrs. Barclay leaned down and hugged her son sympathetically. "I'm sorry honey," she said. "I know that you wanted…" Andy looked up at his mother and smiled. He knew it would do no good to trouble her with what he did or did not want. He was man of the house now. He had to be responsible.<p>

Even if it meant giving up childish dreams.

"It's OK, Mommy," he somehow managed to choke out. He stretched his smile wider; made himself more convincing to her- and to himself. "I like these too. " Pulling out the plastic hammer, he pretended to fix the broken table leg. "See?" Mrs. Barclay smiled back at her son, but inside she was not convinced of her son's happiness. Still he continued on, facing the table; this way he didn't have to put up an exaggerated smile.

Mrs. Barclay sighed softly to herself. It was 7:45. She had to get to work. "Oh, Andy," she muttered to herself. "I would get you that doll if I could."

_The bells in the shop ringing are unpleasant in my ears. Is it morning already?  
>Carefully I open my eyes. The shopkeeper is limping his way to the door. There's some woman with short red hair, smiling and laughing. Is she pointing at me? The shopkeeper is coming towards me.<em>

_Don't touch me…_

***  
>Mrs. Barclay rubbed her eyes tiredly at the computer screen. The figures were blurring in front of her, and she couldn't seem to concentrate on the calculations. But she had to finish these. Her boss- and all the other clients- needed their paycheck. SHE needed her paycheck. But all those blurs…<p>

A knock on her wall surprised her. She jumped and turned, expecting to see Mr. Daylee, her boss. Instead, she saw Maggie Peterson with a large grin on her face. "Oh, Karen!" she sang as she poked her head into Mrs. Barclay's compartment. Mrs. Barclay smiled back wearily at her friend. "Hello, Maggie. It's nice seeing you so frisky this morning." She yawned. "Meanwhile, I think I just grew a tumor in my brain."

Maggie laughed. "Don't worry, Karen. Trust me, I'm just as tired as you are," she assured her. She put a finger over her lips as if she'd just remembered something. "Oh! It's Andy's birthday, isn't it? Did you get him his present?" Mrs. Barclay-Karen- visibly sank in her chair. "Oh, Maggie," she sighed miserably. "I tried everywhere, but they were all so expensive…"

She didn't even get to finish. Maggie squealed and grabbed Karen's shoulders. "I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaimed. Before Karen could open her mouth again, Maggie shushed her. "Listen, listen Karen! Oh, you are going to LOVE this!" She jumped around the room in total jubilation. "Alright, just listen to this, Karen…" Mrs. Barclay leaned forward. "Well, Maggie? Spill. A new boyfriend?" Maggie shook her head. "No, silly, I'll show you." She skipped back out, while Karen sat in her chair, waiting.  
>When her friend came back in, Karen could not believe her eyes.<p>

"Maggie!" she exclaimed as Maggie laid the doll in her lap. Maggie giggled. "Isn't he cute? I flirted with the shopkeeper to get him for a low price. Apparently, this doll wasn't wanted in regular stores, so he got to take it for free to put in his bargain shop!" She sat down next to Mrs. Barclay. "Now, aren't I the greatest?" Karen smiled at the bubbly redhead. "I gotta say, Maggie, yes, yes you are! Andy… Andy is going to be… happy isn't even the word to describe it!"

Maggie Peterson smiled at her blonde friend. But did that doll just blink?

***

Where the hell am I going? And who is this Andy kid? I want the feel of a knife back in my hand. From the way things are going, it seems I will have to be left defenseless without one for a while.

I really don't like this vulnerability…

***  
>Andy had just finished making dinner. It was a microwave dinner, of course, but at least he had made something for his Mom. She was always tired when she came home. Besides, there were no kids around their apartment. It wasn't as if he had someone to play with. Sighing, he stared at his plate and waited for his mother to come home so he could have someone to talk to; to take his mind off of old memories of his dad. He hated feeling this way. Friends of his mother had come by after the funeral, telling them after a while, the pain would go away, but it had been months now. Andy thought by now he would have gotten used to being without his father…<p>

The sound of the door opening made him jump. Daddy?

No, of course not. It was his mother. She was whistling. Whistling? Why? What could she possible be happy about? He ran to the door to see her. "Mommy? Mommy, I made dinner for us all by myself! And I didn't even burn…" he stopped to look at her for a moment. Was that what he thought it was? It was unmistakably real, and yet it was hard for him to believe it. "Mommy," he breathed softly. "Is… is that for me?" Mrs. Barclay could only smile at the look on her son's face.

It was a doll. The doll, to be exact. Why in the world this boy would want the doll, one would have to guess because of one thing: Andy Barclay needed a companion. Someone he could be friends with. To those who do not have friends, you understand. That gnawing loneliness you feel in the chambers of your heart when you sit in the corner of the playground because you don't know anyone else; because you're afraid to make friends because you scared they will bring up that question: My daddy is a fireman, what does your daddy do?

My daddy was a doctor…

But the doll! He was real, so alive! And he would never, ever ask about Daddy because he was a Good Guy. He would be his friend. Andy took him into his arms carefully, as if he would break and be gone if he dropped him. "Yes, Andy," he heard his mother say with a hint of laughter in her voice. "Thanks to Maggie, he's all yours. Don't forget to thank her whenever you see her." Andy held the doll tighter to him, barely hearing her. "Hi, I'm Chucky," the doll chirped. "And I'm your friend to the end! Hidey-ho!"

He's all yours.

*** 

_I had a toy once. My mother made it for me. I used to play with it when I was a kid. Was I this happy when she gave it to me? Probably not._

_I mean, I didn't cry that much when Dadd.. Father ripped it up and threw it away._

_I think it was raining that day…_


	3. Maggie Peterson

_There used to be an old album in our living room. I remember a picture of my Mom and Dad in it. It was their wedding, I think. They looked so happy._

_I think it would have been better if they never got married…  
><em>

If Ms. Peterson was a candidate for a survey of personality, it would clearly state that she was feisty, determined, and rather nosy, though all in a good way. She was also quite a flirt, as the pawn shopkeeper would say. Her fiery red hair could be blamed for her spirit, but she also had a walk that showed confidence and glee. She worked in a small business, but she hardly ever stayed too well focused on her job. Most of her time was spent socializing, especially with Mrs. Barcley, who had been her closest companion in the past three years. So it was not all that surprising when Karen called her up on the phone. It was a normal habit between them to call each other throughout the day, even after work. What was not usual was the distress in Karen's voice.

"Maggie, can I ask you a favor? I know it's late, but…" Of course she could ask her a favor! Maggie, after all, really didn't have much else to do at this time, and she wasn't at all anywhere tired. "Of course, Karen, of course!" she interrupted gaily. "Just say what you need."

And of course, she was there in less than half an hour.

"Oh, Maggie, you're here." The relief was obvious, but Maggie could still hear the tired notes in Karen's voice. "It's Mr. Daylee again, isn't it, Karen?" she asked with suspicion. A smile formed itself on her friend's tired face, and she laughed wearily. "Yes, you know how he is. Forgetting something, misplacing something…"

"Calling on you to fix it," Maggie finished, and they both gave a snort. Maggie could hear a small boy's voice in the background, shrilling with delight. "So, I take it Andy liked the doll?" she asked. Karen smiled. "You think?" They watched Andy run up to the door, clutching the doll-it was as big as he was- close to him. "Aunt Maggie!" he exclaimed. Although Maggie was not his real aunt, she had become such a part of the family that the name had simply stuck. Maggie grinned down at him. "Are you babysitting me, Aunt Maggie?" he inquired. "Yup, it's just you and me tonight, kiddo," she said, tousling his hair. Andy giggled in excitement. "You hear that, Chucky?" he practically squealed to the doll. "Aunt Maggie's staying tonight!"

***

_I don't want her here. Anyone this boy likes I won't. She has to go._

_Tonight…  
><em>

Andy was reclining on the couch with the doll. Maggie peered over at him and smiled. Jumping onto the island of the kitchen, she made herself comfortable while opening some cabinets. "Mmmm… god, I'm so hungry… you owe me food, Karen," she said to no one in particular as she took out some packaged chips. The TV was blasting the evening news- news, for crying out loud! Maggie shook her head and glanced at the clock. It was a bit past his bedtime, but…

A sudden break in the news caught her attention.

"Recently the infamous "Lakeshore Strangler" has been found in the nearby toy store. Police and detectives report that the long feared serial killer is now dead, but how, no one is sure. Detective Michal W. Norris reports that he had been hotly pursuing the killer for long hours that night, but he never saw any sign of what could have led to his death. Surprisingly, the killer was found to be only…"

Maggie turned off the television hastily. "Bedtime, Andy," she said, trying to hide her breathlessness. Andy looked up at her dolefully. "But, Aunt Maggie," he insisted. "Chucky wants to watch the news." Maggie shook her head in disbelief. Doll indeed. "Of course he does, Andy," she said, dismissing the boy's protests. Just a typical child's excuse for wanting to stay up late. But why the news? And why did it have to be on Charles Lee Ray? She ushered Andy along towards the bathroom. "Come one Andy, let's get those teeth brushed," she said. "Can I brush Chucky's teeth with my toothbrush 'cuz he doesn't have one…" Andy was saying as he walked in the bathroom. "Yah, sure, kiddo. Whatever you want," Maggie replied, sitting on the couch.

Karen never wanted her son to know about that "Lakeshore Strangler". Maggie questioned it, of course- she thought that a child should know danger's face, but when Karen only insisted, she had never asked again. She supposed now it didn't matter, seeing as Ray was dead.

***

_Damn, do I hate the taste of toothpaste. I can't spit it out though, this kid keeps sticking that toothbrush of his in my mouth. Brush your own teeth. I can do this myself. I just never want to..._

***

Andy was tucking himself in when Aunt Maggie came in. He smiled up at her. "Look, Auntie, me n' Chucky are already in bed!" he crowed happily. Aunt Maggie grinned back down at him. "Well, aren't you two good boys?" she said as she helped pull the covers over the boy and his doll. "Yup," Andy yawned, pulling the doll closer to him. "We're gonna be the best good-guys ever, right Chucky?" the doll blinked and looked at him. "Right-O, buddy!" it exclaimed. Andy laughed and squeezed it tight. His aunt Maggie turned off the light before closing the door on them, leaving only the silence, save the crickets chirping outside.

"Aunt Maggie, doesn't believe you're real, Chucky," he whispered to the doll. "But I do. You'll be my best friend, won't you, Chucky?" Chucky looked at him and smiled. "Yah, kid. I'm your friend to the end, hidey-ho, as they say." Andy grinned before yawning sleepily. "'night, Chucky," he said softly, kissing his face. "Sure, g'night, kid," Chucky muttered. He pressed his face against the boy's chest until he could feel the steady breathing of one who was in a deep sleep…

***

_Good. He's asleep now. I can't move though, his arm is on top of me. My face is still wet…_

_I have to go. Time for the kill. For some reason, though, I feel reluctant to go… must be because the bedcovers are warm…Why is my heart beating so fast? It's not like I can get caught now…  
><em>

Maggie was staring at the clock. 1:00 A.M. Karen must be really busy, to be out this late. Of course, it was Mr. Daylee. What could she expect? The man was a good man, but as a boss? He was too unorganized. In fact, Maggie could almost consider Karen more of the boss than Mr. Daylee. If she wasn't watching Andy, she would get more food…

A thumping sound caught her attention.

"Andy?" she called. No one replied. She craned herself over the couch to look down the hallway, but she didn't see anything. "Must've imagined it," she muttered to herself, "Crazy, Maggie, you've been watching too many horror films, haven't you?" She was settling back under the blanket again when the thumping sound was heard once more. She sat up, suspicious this time. "Andy?" she called again. Only the crickets replied. "Alright, Andy, just one game of hide-and-seek… but I thought you were asleep by now! Do you know what time it is? When I find you, it's bedtime for real…" She got up slowly and walked into the kitchen. "Hmm…"

No one seemed to be there. But she had heard the creak of the floorboards of the kitchen. Andy must be hiding here. "Oh, I wonder where Andy could be…?" she sang. Usually the little boy would giggle and reveal his hiding place. But not tonight. Wow, she thought to herself. Andy's getting better at this… she heard the thump again, this time from behind her. She turned quickly, but she saw nothing. Now the hairs on her neck began to rise. "Andy?" she called, less confident inside. "Come on out, Andy, Aunt Maggie's really tired…" Andy would have come out by now. Which meant…

Either she was imagining things, or someone else was here tonight.

The phone rang, making her jump and scream. She quickly recovered herself and picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said, hoping her voice wasn't still shaky. "Maggie?" It was Karen. "Oh, Karen, it's you…" Maggie said. "Why? Who else would call? Maggie? Are you OK? Did something happen?" Karen sounded worried. "What? Oh, no! No, no, don't worry, Karen… the wind startled me outside that's all… _whoo whoo_," she giggled nervously. "Alright," Karen's voice had a hint of skepticism in it, but she went on, "I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to be back in an hour maybe… I'm so sorry, but Mr. Daylee got me all caught up in this joint business project and no one can seem to agree…"

"Don't worry about it, Karen," Maggie assured her. "We're fine. Andy's asleep. We'll see you later, m'kay?" She hung up the phone. "Yah, everything's OK, right, Maggie?" she said to herself. She heard another noise; this time is sounded like a container falling over. She turned and looked at the island, where Karen usually kept her flour. A shiny object flew straight towards her.

She screamed…

***

_Damn it damn it DAMN IT!_

***

"Ouch…" she rubbed her forehead. "What was that?" She looked down at her feet. A small, miniature hammer lay next to them. A Good Guys hammer. She frowned. "Andy, you really hurt me…" No one was there.

Except for the doll.

"Chucky?" Maggie picked up the doll in disbelief. So maybe this was why Karen didn't want Andy knowing about serial killers? Maybe because he would want to pretend to be one, or in this case, pretend his doll was one? But Andy was nowhere to be seen. She picked up the doll gingerly. Could it possibly be..? "No," she chided herself. Dolls don't talk. Dolls don't move, and they definitely don't try to hurt people. Dolls are for happiness and love.

She crept to the room where she saw Andy. He was clutching a pillow and, obviously, fast asleep. Clutching a pillow, perhaps, that should have been his doll. Maggie frowned. Why was she thinking like this? This doll couldn't have…

She sighed and slid the doll back under Andy's arm. Andy tightened his arms around the doll and murmured in his sleep. Maggie turned away to leave, but a sudden thought crossed her mind. It was crazy, insane even, but she had to. She leaned over the doll and got close to his ear. "Look," she hissed, trying to sound fierce. "Either you're not real, so it doesn't matter, or you _are_ real and you better listen: Andy is my best friend's son. This little boy has been through enough pain after his father was killed. He's struggling to find his place again, and he's looking at you, buddy. That's right. You. You are like a dream come true. Don't become another nightmare for him. Because if you hurt him, if you break his heart, I swear," here she grabbed some of the doll's hair to make her point. "I will hunt you down. And if I don't, his voice will haunt you, and you will never be able to forget him." She stood back up and pointed sternly at him. "That is not a threat," she whispered. "That is a promise."

***

_Why couldn't I kill her? I must have aimed wrong. I can't control this small body I've been put into. Stupid bitch thinks she can threaten me? Like I care if some poor sap gets hurt because of what I did. People hurt me all the time and they didn't care, and look, I survived. Look at me now._

_You, woman. You should have been dead…_


	4. Once Upon a Time

_You know what this kid reminds me of? Fairytales. He's full of all that shit of happy endings and love and other icky things I hate. He talks to me as if I were a fairy godmother. I'm no god-nothing. But you know WHO this kid reminds me of?_

_Me…  
><em>

Detective Michael W. Norris. The letters engraved in bold served as a golden bridge today. Mike leaned forward and slid his small Iron-Man action figure over it. "_Ka-chaa! Ka-ching_!" _The man could feel the intense burning in his chest, but he would not give up his pursuit of the one who held his wife, his beloved, captured. He would relentlessly pursue that evildoer until he had his precious gem back. There would be no river he could not cross, no mountain he could not scale! He would fight for her. Because he loved her dearly, he could never let her go. He would get her back no matter what the cost, even if it meant he would die trying._

_"John!" she cried. "John, don't give up!"_

_"Don't worry, Isabelle! I will save you!" _

The coughing at his door startled him. Mike quickly snapped back into reality. Looking up, he saw a woman with fiery red shoulder length hair, staring at him as though he came from another planet. He might as well be. What detective still played with little dolls? What pissed him off most, though, was that the woman had interrupted his climax. Now the world would never know if John had rescued Isabelle, or if he had died, or if when he rescued her he died…

No matter. Sighing, he put on what he called his "crafty detective grin" and held out his hand. "Michael W. Norris, Ma'am, at your service! How may I help you?" She gave him a suspicious glance before taking his hand cautiously. "You're that detective from the news last night, right? The one who was chasing Charles Lee Ray?" He nodded in confirmation. "I'm Maggie. Maggie Peterson," the woman said crisply before glancing around her. Suddenly her confident demeanor changed. "Do you mind if I close the door?" she asked softly. Mike was dumbfounded. "Close… close the door? Uhmm… yes, if you like, but, may I ask why?" Ms. Peterson closed the door and sat at the chair next to his desk and scooted close. "I don't want anyone else to know this."

"Ok…" Mike was a bit intrigued. Perhaps she had witnessed a murder. Maybe her fiancé was the killer, and she didn't know how to deal with it, seeing as she was in love with this monster. _Could she still save his heart, or was he gone for good?_ She snapped in his face. "Hello? Mr. Norris?"

He really needed to stop doing this.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he said sheepishly. "What were you saying?" Ms. Peterson rolled her eyes before crossing her legs and folding her hands neatly over her knees. "Listen, I have a suspicion. You may think it's crazy, but…" she sighed. "I have to tell someone about this. I don't want to be someone who could have done something but didn't." Mike fought the urge to show too much anticipation. He was waiting for the point, the point! What was her predicament? He noticed the bruise on her forehead; it was turning purple around the edges. Remain, calm, Michal, detectives do not show much emotion. They have to be casual, not passionate.

"It's… well, it's this doll." she was saying. Mike turned his attention back on her. A doll? Funny, Charles Lee Ray was holding on to a doll when he died. "I bought this doll for my friend's son. I got it from a pawn shop for a good price, almost too good, even for a pawn shop, but I took it, you know? My friend's son really wanted that doll…" Mike nodded, to show he was listening; and he was. This was getting interesting. Not even John and his plight with Isabelle could distract him now. This was a real plot going on, right in front of him. "Anyways," she went on. "Of course, her son took it with all the joy any child would have when they get what they've always wanted. But then…" she paused for a moment, before Mike told her to go on. "I had to babysit the son. Karen-my friend- was called by our boss on a surprise late-night errand. I had put her son to bed, and I so sure he was fast asleep. But I was attacked," she pointed at her bruise. She opened her purse and pulled out a small toy hammer and laid it on his desk. "Mr. Norris, do you know who I found lying there on the floor, at a close enough distance to have hit me with this?" Mike shook his head. A boy as a killer? Almost impossible, but Mike had learned already that it could be done…

"The doll." she said. Mike jumped, startled. _This_ he did not expect. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you trying to imply that the doll…?" Ms. Peterson nodded her head. "Oh, I know, it sounds crazy, doesn't it?" she said, noticing his expression. "But listen. There's no way that the boy could have…" Mike held up his hand. Something had dawned on his mind. "No, no, wait a minute. What kind of a doll was it? Did you mention?" Ms. Peterson looked astounded. "Ah, no, actually, I didn't. It was a Good Guys doll… why do you ask?" Mike leaned back in his chair, sure that the woman was confused by what must be the ecstatic look on his face. "Tell me, Ms. Peterson, what's the doll's name? Charlie, perhaps? Or maybe…" he leaned towards her. "Chucky?"

Ms. Peterson jumped back. "How… how did you..?" Her eyes were wide as saucers. Mike smiled. A subtle smile, Michal, good job. You may be an effective detective yet. Madeline would be proud of him. "Well, Ms. Peterson," he began. "Your scheme may not be as insane as you think. I have a proposition." Now it was Ms. Peterson's turn to be intrigued. "And what is that, Mr. Norris?" she asked curiously. "I believe that, your doll," he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file, and slammed it down on the desk dramatically as he announced. "is Charles Lee Ray!"

Ms. Peterson's reaction was not what he expected. "What?" she scoffed. "Come on! Are you just making fun of me? I was being serious! What if this doll is a secret terrorist conspiracy? Charles Lee Ray, for goodness sakes…" why was she being so defensive? Mike had thought she'd be happy…

"Me? Let in that Lakeshore Strangler into my best friend's house? I couldn't! That's impossible! After all the pain he's caused her…" she stopped immediately and shut her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have been babbling to myself. I just…" she sighed. "No. Charles Lee Ray is dead, Mr. Norris. There has to be another solution."

Alright. If she wanted to be mysterious, so be it. Mike stood. "Well, whatever it may be, Charles Lee Ray or terrorist conspiracy, the same procedure must be done." He stood and walked to the door. "There will have to be an investigation." Ms. Peterson stood quickly. "Umm… Mr. Norris? Please, do you think there's any way we could…" she ducked her head shamefully. "Any way we could investigate without my Karen knowing? I don't want to cause a fuss and then find it was for nothing." Mike nodded slowly. "I'll do what I can, Ms. Peterson," he said. Opening the door, he gestured her out. "But until then, wait for my call. I'll need your number." Ms. Peterson nodded. "Yes, of course," she said. Hastily, she wrote down a telephone number on a tissue from her purse.

Mike was still looking at the number when she drove off. The tissue was a scented one. "Hmmph," he said to himself before re-entering his office. As he sat, he fingered the photograph of a young attractive woman with long dark hair. "Don't worry, Madeline," he said softly to it. "I will figure out your last words yet…"

***

_Ok, don't get me wrong. When I said he reminded me of me, I didn't mean the me now. I meant who I used to be. A sap. A wuss. You know what?_

_Not anymore. Not me. No more fairytales from this guy._

_I always hated the happily ever after part anyways…_

***

Andy knew his doll was real. His mom would tell him, of course sweetie, he's your friend. But Andy knew she didn't really believe him. No one did. But that was okay, because it was like he and Chucky had a some sort of a secret between them, and best friends always had secrets, didn't they? Or course they did!

Chucky wasn't exactly what he had expected. He was grumpy, had nothing nice to say most of the time, and was extremely pessimistic. But that was alright, too. At least now, he had someone to talk to. A boy he could confine in. Right? And even if his advice wasn't something Andy would seriously consider, he at least made him laugh. Sometimes, anyways.

Andy didn't blame Chucky for being the way he was. Sometimes he'd hear him muttering to himself about who things were "when he was a kid". The bits and pieces Andy caught didn't sound too nice. He guessed that was why Chucky was so cranky. He would be too.

But at least Chucky would play with him. Blocks and things like that. Even if when they built the tower Chucky would knock it down, Andy kind of liked him. He hoped they would be friends forever.

***

Mike was sitting on his bed. 12:00 A.M. He sighed and lay back down, trying to relax, but it wasn't working. Ever since that woman had come in and mentioned that doll, he'd been having memories. Memories that he had been trying to move on from. He remembered on his way home, he overheard the women in the streets gossiping. About him. He had tried to pretend he couldn't hear them whispering, but the words still stuck with him.

_"What's he doing as a detective? He's nothing of the sort!"_

_A snort, a laugh, more talking._

_"Shoulda stuck to the romance novels he wrote."_

_"And what's with that dead flower in his pocket? It's so gross, I'd throw that out…"_

_"Hush. You don't know anything. His wife died on their wedding day. Ever since then, he became an agent to track down the killer, Charles Lee Ray."_ There was a gasp then. He had felt their eyes boring in him. _"Charles Lee Ray killed his wife?"_ a shy voice squeaked. _"Who has that Lakeshore Strangler not killed?"_ someone else piped up, and there were several people who agreed, _"true, true indeed."_

_"He killed my dog."_

_"My son."_

_"My husband."_

Then they had looked on him with pity. Mike didn't know whether he wanted their pity, or if he wanted them to just keep talking behind his back. It had been this way once before, all through his school years. He had been the odd one, the one who never spoke, the shy one. He had ignored the women's stares and tried to shut them out. Thought of Madeline. Madeline. He could still hear her voice, calling his name. He groaned and rolled over in his bed. She was the one who had reached out to him. She had encouraged him to publish his novels. She was his beloved. He remembered sometimes she would flounce in his house and just wrap her arms around his neck and surprise him. She was the light in his dull world, the color in his coloring book. They had had so many plans, of their dream home, their honey moon…

They were going nowhere now. That honeymoon never did come around. His only honeymoon trip was to Madeline's grave. Every month. Because of her, he was determined to find Charles Lee Ray.

Because of her, he was also determined not to kill Charles Lee Ray.

Just before she had died, she had told him. "Michael, honey, Charles Lee Ray, he's just, he's only a…" after a long struggle for air, however, she had left him with. "…I love you…" He could still feel her body go limp in his arms, could still feel the helplessness. If only he knew what she had tried to tell him! If Madeline were here, he would know more about Charles Lee Ray.

No. Screw Charles Lee Ray. If Madeline were here, they'd be happily married. But she wasn't. She was gone. And to think, at one moment in his life…

…he had had hope for a happily ever after.


	5. Of The Late Mr Barclay

_When I was still with my mother, I would help her at the grocery store. She would always let me help pick the vegetables and stuff. I remember seeing a bruised tomato. She wouldn't have it at first, but when I begged her to let me keep it, she relented, laughing._

_I kept it because I wanted to fix it. But I've learned that some things just can't be fixed…_

***  
>Andy knew that his doll was very different from him. They didn't like the same things. He'd heard before that opposites attract, however. He supposed this was why they were becoming such good friends. But there was one thing that Andy and Chucky had in common. They both hated shopping. It didn't matter what they were shopping for, or what store they were in, they both detested it, and tried to do anything to avoid it. Well, Andy did most of it. Chucky just laid there in his arms like any doll would.<p>

Today was one of those days. Mrs. Barclay was feeling the beginning of school coming around the corner, and it was time to get those school supplies. Sighing, she braced herself for what would be the biggest battle of the year. "Andy, come on!" she called down the hallway. "We've got to go today! The 15% off sale won't be here tomorrow!"

She heard the reluctant groaning of her son as he dragged his feet across the floor. "But Mommy," he said. "Chucky is sick. He can't go. See?" He pushed the doll up towards her. Karen grinned slyly to herself as she came up with a response. "Well, then. The poor dear. I suppose you'll just have to leave him at home, won't you?" Andy's eyes widened. "No! No… I'll just make him some tea. He'll be okay, honest. Chucky can handle it…" Karen's grin stretched to an open smile as Andy slowly accepted his defeat and pulled on his shoes.

She would have to tell Maggie. This doll was a great addition to the family.

***

_As crazy as this detective is_, Maggie thought to herself, _at least he seems to care_. Mike had run across the street to the parking zone behind some bushes. He was beckoning her over now. She walked over to him and crouched beneath the bushes as he instructed. "Mr. Norris, don't you think this is a little too much?" she commented. "I mean, I could always just visit Karen and search for any clues…" She stopped and gasped suddenly as Mike put a hand over her mouth. "Hush, Ms. Peterson," he said. "We can't be spotted. As for simply visiting your Mrs. Barclay, no, that just won't do. Charles Lee Ray will suspect you. He's a very intelligent criminal."

Maggie sighed and rolled her eyes. "We'll have to sneak by their apartment, and then…" Mike paused when he heard voices entering the parking lot. Maggie perked up. "That's Karen's voice! She's taking Andy somewhere," she exclaimed. Mike groaned. "No, no, this is bad for our investigation. We can't spy on Charles Lee Ray if he's not here!" He watched the mother and son and his doll as they reached the car and rubbed his forehead. Suddenly he grabbed Maggie's wrist desperately. "Ms. Peterson," he started. "Do you have any idea where they could be going?" Maggie scanned their faces. Andy seemed to be dragging his feet, which was odd, because Andy was a very good boy and almost never complained. Except when…

"I know!" she said just as they pulled out of the parking lot into the street. "There's only one place Andy hates to go, only one place thing he complains about doing. And it's nearing school season again. They must be going to Wal-Mart, shopping for school supplies." She turned to Mike. "Would you like me to drive, or would you rather be the one courageously pursuing your escapee?" Mike looked up at her with a bit of admiration. "You write?" he asked slowly. "Who, me? No," she replied. She looked off towards the car, where she knew that possibly, a killer could be resting next to her best friend's child. "But maybe someday, as a hobby…"

***

_Last time I was in a store, it was in an outdoor market. Some sort of fair. I was with my mother. There was some strange elderly man staring at me. I remember helping my mother with her shopping, because she was carrying Lisé in her arms. The old man had walked up to us, asked my mother if he could paint us. "It's been so long since I've seen such a good family," he said. Strange._

_He took a quick sketch. I never saw the sketch, and I've never seen that man again._

***

Karen was browsing through backpacks. "Andy," she said, holding out one with racing stripes. "What about this one?" Andy looked up from his doll and shrugged. "That's fine, I guess," he said. Karen sighed. He just wasn't paying any attention. "Andy, I'm just going to pick whatever I want if you don't help me choose," she warned. Andy shrugged again. "That's fine. Can Chucky and me just play now?" Karen nodded in defeat. "Fine, but don't go far. And don't talk to strangers!" she called just as Andy rounded the corner of the aisle. She smiled to herself. Perhaps it was a little unhealthy, that a boy should be so close to a doll? But there were no kids in the apartment. Chucky was a godsend, that was for sure. She hadn't seen Andy so active since her husband was alive.

Her shoulders sagged for a moment as she thumbed through the notebooks and binders. Thinking of Andrew was hard. He was a good father and husband. She could still remember the night the police called. It was raining, and there was loud thunder. It was so ironic how the weather was a sort of foreshadowing.

***

Mike was watching the boy through the toys. He could just barely see the doll that he was clutching. Gee, that toy is as big as he is, he thought with a laugh. But it was no laughing matter. If this doll really _was_ Charles Lee Ray, it was frightening how the boy was so trusting of him. If he knew Charles Lee Ray, and he figured he had a pretty good idea of him, the Lakeshore Strangler would probably stab the boy in the back at the opportune moment.

He was deep in dark thoughts when he felt a hand on his back. He jumped and turned to see Maggie watching him. "_Yeesh_, Ms. Peterson. Don't do that. You could have blown our cover!" Maggie rolled her eyes with impatience. "You know, Norris, I could just talk to Andy now. He's alone, and he trusts me." Mike shook his head. "Now, Ms. Peterson, I know you would like to do so much for your friend, but, let the expert handle this," he said, pointing to himself exaggeratingly. Maggie sighed and rubbed her slowly depleting bruise. "Fine, fine, _whatever_," she mumbled.

She soon regretted that. Mike, in all his dramatic flair, snuck behind Andy and nearly startled him out of his wits. "Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. People don't just sneak up on kids. He held on to Chucky a little tighter. Mike stood. "Aah, me? Detective Mike Norris, at you service! There's no need to be afraid of me, little one," he said, tousling Andy's hair. Maggie snorted quietly to herself. Sure, nothing to be afraid of. After you give the first impression of a pedophile, why worry? "What's your name, son?" Mike asked Andy, who only gave him a reproachful look. "My mom says I shouldn't talk to strangers," he said simply, turning back to the Tonka truck on the shelf.

Mike sighed. _Steady, Mike. You have to do better than this. He's a kid, for god's sake. Don't scare him off_. He got down on his knees. "Listen, kid," he said softer. "It's just that, my wife died, and ever since then, I'm having a hard time getting close to my son, who misses his mother." He saw Andy turn toward him with a sympathetic look. He had struck a sensitive nerve. This boy obviously understood the loss of a loved one. "So," he continued slowly. "I was just wondering, about that doll you've got there. It's a Good Guys doll, isn't it?" Andy nodded. "His name is Chucky," he said. Mike nodded. "I see. Is he a good friend, kid? Would it be a good idea for me to get my son one?" Andy smiled. "Yah! I like him! And you know what else? He's special. In fact," he lowered his voice to a whisper. "He's _real_. He talks to me all the time."

Mike raised his eyebrows. Now this was getting good. "Really?" he said in genuine interest. "What does he tell you?"

***

_Not good. Not good. Please Andy, please._

_Don't tell him everything I've told you…_

Karen could hear her son talking. Usually she would dismiss it as him talking to his doll, but his doll's name wasn't Mr. Norris. Her mother's intuition was tingling. She rounded the corner just as she heard a man's voice say, "He doesn't mention a hit list?" Andy was confused. "A what?" The man was getting closer to her son; they were almost touching. "You know, people he wants to kill?" he was whispering. Well! That was enough! Karen huffed angrily. She reached Andy just as he was proclaiming that his doll would never, _ever_ hurt anyone. "Excuse me!" she hissed at the man, who jumped up, startled. "Oh, Ms. Karen! Allow me to introduce myself. Detective Mike Norris, at your…" She slapped him full force in the face before he could finish. "That is my son you're talking to! About hit lists and what-not! What kind of nonsense are you filling his head with? Are you trying to raise a murderer?" Mike was a bit taken aback. This woman was fiery; her eyes were burning. _She had every intention of keeping her son safe from harm. Not after…  
><em>  
>He was doing it again. In fact, he had missed everything she had just said. "No, excuse me, Karen, but it's just that, Charles Lee Ray, he could be here, and…" he ducked another slap. "Charles Lee Ray, for goodness sake! Do you think my son needs to hear about that?" Still fuming, she grabbed Andy's hand. "And it's Mrs. Barclay to you, Mr. Norris!" She stalked away, dragging Andy behind her while lecturing to him about <em>'what have I told you about talking to strangers?'<br>_  
>Maggie came out from behind the shelf. "Now, Mr. Norris," she laughed to the dumbfounded man. "Do we agree that maybe I should do the inquisition from now on?"<p>

***

Mom was mad. Andy could tell. They were halfway home, and she was still pestering him about how he was talking to that man in the store. "How could you, Andy?" she was asking for the millionth time. "You don't even know him! And he was such a creep, talking about Charles Lee Ray, for pity's sake." Andy looked up at her. "But, Mommy, that's Chucky's full name!" Karen almost put on the brakes, she was so astonished. "Andy," she said, as calmly as she should. "Don't ever say that name again. Ever." Andy sighed to himself and slunk down in his seat. "But it _is_," he mumbled softly. "And that Mr. Norris was nice. He reminded me of Daddy."

Karen's eyes widened. Andy's father. How could she have forgotten about how much Andy missed him too? No wonder he so willingly accepted another man's attention. Andy, of course, never even got to tell his father good-bye. She didn't want him to know she had lied. When the police had called, they had found Andrew's body folded around a lamppost. He had been driving on the way home, when he got a flat tire. He had called her to let her know, he would be later, but he would be home soon. Unfortunately, he never made it home. His last words and his gruesome death made it clear. He died in no car accident.

Charles Lee Ray had murdered him.

***

_It's a good thing that woman came when she did. This kid almost gave me away._

_I might let you live, Mrs. Barclay…_


	6. Hit List

_School lies, you know? They tell you they want you to make something of yourself. To be smart. Do you know what I got for being smart?_

_A relief found only in solitude, because everyone else picked on the smallest, smartest kid of them all.  
><em>

"But, Mommy, I'm scared," Andy was sniffing for the fifth or sixth time. He clutched Chucky closer to him, as if feeling the doll pressed against him made things better. Karen sighed and rubbed her son's shoulders comfortingly. "Andy, honey, you are going to love school. There're lots of kids your age to play with." Her words were to no avail, however; Andy shook nervously as the bus drove up. "I don't want to go," he said softly. The brakes on the bus squeaked at high volumes and made even Karen jump in surprise. Andy grip tightened, and his heart pounded against the doll's back. He gave one last pleading look at his mother. "Go, Andy," she said with a firmer tone in her voice. She gave Andy a gentle but commanding shove towards the bus' opening doors.

The loud sounds of children overwhelmed seven year old Andy. He had never been in such an environment. He had been home alone until now, and the smells and vibrant life startled him. In fact, it frightened him. It seemed to take every ounce of courage he could muster to throw himself into an empty seat and huddle in near the window with his backpack covering him. "Chucky?" he whispered. "I don't want to go to school. I'm scared stiff, I am." His doll looked up at him apprehensively. "What, of school?" he replied with disbelief. "Isn't that the 'great learning place' or whatever they call it? Don't you like that sort of gay stuff?"

Andy shook his head. "I don't mind the learning," he admitted. "It's the other kids I'm scared of. What if they don't like me? What if they think I'm weird, or dumb?" Chucky made a guttural noise in his throat and began to mutter something about a kid with strange fears. "You don't have to worry about that, kid," he replied. "You'll be perfectly fine." Andy pulled Chucky close to him worriedly. "That's what Mommy says," he said softly. "But…but still…what if she's wrong? What if you're wrong? What if…?" Andy was cut off when his doll grabbed his collar impatiently. "You listen to me, kid," he half-snarled. "You go in with an attitude like that, you'll never make any friends, you hear? You'll be the loneliest piece of crap the world has ever known…"

He would have gone on, with much more crude things to say, had he not noticed that Andy had turned away from him and held onto his backpack instead. Chucky was almost sure he was crying. His mouth dropped open. He shouldn't have been so harsh! Andy was a kid, after all. "Hey, kid," he said, gently nudging the boy's arm. Andy wiped his nose carelessly with his sleeve. "It's okay, Chucky. You're right. I'm over-acting, like Mommy would say," he sniffled. Chucky tried to turn Andy back to him, but the boy obviously refused to confide in him anymore at this point. "Andy," he said softly. "Listen. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just that… fu… _crap_, I just…" he sighed. Words like these hadn't come out since…

"I just think you're a great kid, Andy," he said finally. The boy turned and looked at him hopefully. "You mean it?" he asked cautiously. His doll looked at him with what would seem like a sheepish expression. "Yah," he murmured quietly. "I think it would be crazy if anybody didn't like you…" Andy smiled and hugged him tightly. "You're the best-est friend I ever had, Chucky," he said gleefully. "Yah, yah, I get it, kid, now get off me," Chucky responded, though not too unfriendly-like. "You know I hate that huggy-kissy kind of shit."

The bus took a turn to the left then, and passed what seemed like an old abandoned house. Chucky stared at it in disbelief. "That traitor," he muttered angrily to himself. "He's on my hit-list." Andy looked at him. "What?" he asked. Chucky shook his head and looked out the window. "Nothing," he replied. "Just thinking out loud…"

***

_God, do I hate having to say those kinds of things. But I need the kid on my side. Unfortunately, (as I discovered the night I tried to kill that ginger, Meggie or Maggot or whatever) in this new body, I can't really walk very well on my own. I need some sort of transportation._

_Plus, I kind of owe it to him. I mean, who am I to really judge his fears of school? I had those same kinds of worries when I was his age. I don't have the heart to crush him._

_But that house, and the one who lives in it, is going down. He ruined my life forever._

_We'll see who's crying now, Eddie Caputo…_

***

The boy in the corner looked interesting. At least that's what Krista de Silva thought. He was in first grade, and he still had a doll, just like her. Her mother had always told her that no one her age played with rag dolls like she did. "But there's always Quanisha, Mama," she would whine. For some reason, Quanisha didn't count.

She sighed and tightened the laces on her combat boots before deciding to go talk to the new kid. He could be nice, right? He had a doll. Just like her. That settled it. Besides, Quanisha wasn't anywhere, so she could make that her excuse for talking to him. She wasn't _flirting_ or anything like that. With this in mind, she plucked up her courage and skipped over to where the new boy was (which was kind of hard to do in her boots).

He jumped a bit when she stepped in front of her. "Hey, I'm Krista!" she said, as friendly as possible. He smiled shyly back at he. "Hey," he said kind of soft. She still didn't know his name. Krista took a step closer to him. "Umm, what's your name?" she pressed. He held his doll closer to him before quietly responding, "Andy. My name's Andy." Geez, but that doll was just as big as them, she thought. But it looked cool. "Isn't that one of those new Good Guys dolls?" she asked curiously. He nodded in confirmation. She smiled and pulled out her doll. "This is Lisa," she said. The boy Andy stared at the roughed-up rag doll with wide eyes. "We've been through a lot, haven't we Lisa?" She made her doll nod, and Andy laughed.

Well, that was a good sign, right? 

"You're going to like our teacher," she said. "I met her last week at Wal-Mart. Her name's Ms. Kettlewell." He only nodded again. Was this boy quiet or what? But she liked him. Something about him she liked, and she wanted to be his friend. It was going to happen. The bell rang, which permanently ended their conversation, but she knew they would have more chances. Then they would be best friends, right? She sure hoped so.

Andy was swinging his feet nervously under his desk. He'd never been in school before. The last time he saw kids his age he was at a park, when his dad was still alive. He gulped back the lump in his throat and tried not to think of Daddy. Instead he focused his thoughts on Chucky. He was very quiet, which surprised Andy. Usually the doll had a mouthful to say. He leaned closer to him to whisper in his ear. "I'm still scared, Chucky," he said. He peeked over and noticed the girl looking at him. Chucky didn't move, but he responded with a hissy, "You'll be _fine_, Andy. Look, I think that girl likes you, okay? Happy?" Andy smiled and reclined against the back of his chair. He _was_ happy. Maybe he could make a friend his age.

A young, pretty woman strode briskly in right after the bell rang and looked at her class sheepishly. "Hello, class," she said brightly. "I'm Ms. Kettlewell. Sorry that you had to see me run in late…" Just as she said this, the door slammed open, and in rushed a ball of energy in the form of a little black girl holding a Barbie doll, who looked almost like her. "Missus K!" she shouted breathlessly. Ms. Kettlewell looked down at the girl with an expression of surprise. "Well, well. Ms. Tyler," she said. "I'm sorry I'm late, Missus K!" the girl burst out, interrupting her teacher. "But I missed my bus, and…." She paused to get a breath. Ms. Kettlewell smiled. "I was just going to say, Quanisha, that you and I are both having a little trouble today. Don't worry, I won't be penalizing you for your tardiness this time."

Quanisha sighed. "Oh, thank you, Missus K!" she said. She flopped into her chair next to Krista in relief, but carefully set her Barbie on the desk. Krista leaned over and whispered something to her, and they both looked over at the boy with doll his size. "Oh!" Quanisha's mouth took the shape of the sound she made. "He's the new kid!" She jumped out of her chair again and ran over to where Andy was, startling him. "You're the new kid, aren't you?" she said. Andy nodded. He didn't know what to make of this one. She was bouncier and a bit scary, and…. wait, was she _touching his hair…?_ "I love me some white people hair," she said. "My baby brother, Ronald, he's got hair too, but it ain't half as nice as yours." Andy nodded again, barely whispering out something like a "Thanks."

"Alright, Quanisha, don't scare the new student," Ms. Kettlewell said cheerily. "How about you sit down now and we can get our work done, okay?" Quanisha nodded, but gave Andy one last look-over before sitting down next to Kristin and whispering quite audibly, "He's a hunky one, ain't he?" Andy didn't know what _hunky_ meant, but the girls' stares and giggles and Chucky's snort made him blush scarlet.

***

_ You think you're so nice, huh? Damn teacher. You're all the same. Lying through your teeth, about love and fairness; you're just as bad as the other bullies in the school._

_You're a bitch, you know that? I know that. I know everything…_

Andy sighed. He had survived, and it wasn't all so bad. Kristin and Quanisha had tried to get him to play on the playground with them during recess, and even when he said no, they didn't seem to mind. They didn't point and laugh, or say mean things. Mommy and Chucky were right. School was kind of nice. Maybe he would play with the girls tomorrow. He adjusted Chucky in his arms as he waddled towards the bus. He would have to tell his mother about today. He would also have to ask what hunky meant.

Just as he neared the bus line, Chucky elbowed him. "Don't ride the bus, kid," he said suddenly. "Why?" Andy asked a bit impatiently. "Chucky, how else am I supposed to get home?" Chucky growled. "You got legs, don't you?" he snapped. "C'mon, I got things I need to do." At Andy's hesitance, he went on a bit rougher. "Let's go, kid!" Andy huffed angrily and turned towards the front of the school. "Fine, fine. I got it, Chucky," he muttered. "You don't have to be so _bossy_ about it…" Geez, Chucky had to be such a grouch sometimes.

It felt like hours before they finally reached some dumpy house in the middle of nowhere, it seemed. Andy rolled his eyes a bit as he listened to Chucky complain about how slow he was, and _couldn't he walk faster?_ He heard a falling sound, and turned his head just in time to see that detective guy he saw at the store the other day. What was he doing here? Oh well. Chucky was saying something. "What?" he asked. Chucky wiggled around in his arms so he could face him. "Were you even listening to me? God, Andy, are you…hey, what are you…?" Chucky asked in confusion as Andy set him down on the dirt. "I gotta go potty, Chucky," he said as sternly as he could. "You… you what? I don't care, Andy. Pick me up, _now_," he griped. Andy shook his head and walked away, looking for a place to relieve himself and ignoring Chucky's profanity. He had legs too. If Chucky wanted to go play in the house so bad, he could walk there himself.

He had just finished up when he heard the loud sound of the house exploding. "Chucky?" he called. Worry pricked at him. Did Chucky get hurt in the house? He ran towards the flying debris, calling for his doll. "Chucky? Chucky! Where are you? Are you okay? _Chucky!_"

***

_ You deserve this, you bastard. This is what you get for what you did to me. I am not a toy. You can't just sell me away._

_My stomach hurts. Like something is squeezing it tight. I hurt everywhere…someone's calling my name… the kid?_

_Andy… come find me…  
><em>

Mike Norris and Maggie were just behind an old abandoned factory when they saw the house go up into the sky. "Omigod!" Maggie shouted. "Andy!" Mike was searching the yard with his eyes frantically. "He's over there," he said. They could barely see the shape of the boy, who was picking up his doll with extreme care. Maggie rushed forward to try to get the boy, but Mike held her back. "Wait!" he said. Maggie looked at him in confusion. "If he's alright, we can't let him know we were following him. If he tells his mother… do you want Karen involved in this?" She could nothing but shake her head. She really didn't want Karen to know she'd let that monster in her house.

***

_Someone's holding me, I think. I can feel the bouncing. Andy? Right. He came looking for me._

_He came looking for me...?_


	7. Who's The Doctor?

_I can feel your heartbeat, Andy.  
><em>

Karen was just beginning to call the police station when the door opened and her son walked in, somewhat tiredly. "Andy!" she cried out. She ran to his side and grabbed his shoulders. "Where have you been, child!" she nearly screeched. "I was just about to call the police, for pity's sake! What did you think you were…." Andy shrugged calmly. "Chucky wanted to go play at some house…" Karen continued to lecture her son until she heard him say, "but it exploded…"

"It what?" she exclaimed. She held his face in her hands. "Oh, my poor Andy, are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Andy smiled as his mother held him tightly in her arms. "Mommy, you're squishing Chucky," he giggled. Karen let out an exasperated and relieved laugh and let pulled back to take a look at her son. Andy, this calm brave little soul.

"Mommy, school wasn't so bad! You and Chucky were right," he said happily. "I think some girls like me. Mommy, what's a hunk? Oh, Mommy…" Karen put her hand over Andy's mouth and laughed fully this time. "Andy, honey, calm down. I can only answer one question at a time. I'm glad you liked school." She elbowed him playfully. "So we were right, huh?" Andy nodded happily. Then he frowned. "Mommy," he said. Karen looked at him. "Hmmm? What is it, honey?" she asked. Andy shifted his hold on Chucky. "I saw that man again today."

Karen stiffened. She had her doubts about that detective. Last time she had caught him talking to her son about that soul-less murderer, trying to scare her son. Andy didn't know anything about Charles Lee Ray, and he didn't need to. "Where did you see him?" she asked cautiously. Although she didn't like Norris too much, her son seemed to be enraptured with him. "When I was going to that house, I saw him watching me. I think he's my guardian angel." Karen would have gone on to shout about whether Andy had spoken to that stranger again or not, but the last phrase caught her attention.

"He's your what?" she asked. "My guardian angel," Andy said again. "Chucky told me about them." Karen watched as Andy held his doll close it him affectionately, like there was some sort of secret going on in between the two of them. Some sort of alarms went off in Karen's head, motherly intuition perhaps, but she kept herself calm. "Well, what did he say about them?" she inquired curiously. "He said… he says he thinks that his guardian angels ran away and left him behind," her son responded sadly. That gnawing feeling was coming strong. Where was Andy getting these ideas? Being left behind? Did Andy feel that _he_ was being left behind? "So," she went on worriedly, "so, what did you tell Chucky, honey?" The moment of truth. She held her breath.

Andy smiled. "I told him it was okay, because I would be there for him, always. I promised," he said, emphasizing promised. Karen's heart dropped. Sweet, right? But everyone knows dolls can't talk. Was Andy expressing his own feelings through his doll? Did he feel he had to be his own guardian angel? _She_ was there for him! She could watch over him. "Andy," she said, quite emotionally. "Listen, honey. You tell _Chucky_," here she held onto her son's arms and looked into his eyes, hoping he would get the message, "that I will be here too. I am always here for _you_." Andy grinned. "You mean, for Chucky," he said. Right. Chucky. She nodded. "Yes, sure, for Chucky," she agreed.

"You hear that Chucky?" he somewhat shouted. "Mommy will be here for you too. So you got nothing to worry about!" He walked towards his room, giggling and continuing to babble away to Chucky about how he would never, ever be alone again. Karen stood and watched them, deep in thought. She had to call Maggie about this. Maggie would know what to do. She ran to the phone in the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing her friend's number frantically.

Maggie was in the middle of sorting "evidence" out with Mike on her kitchen table when Karen called. "Karen?" she asked cautiously. She looked over at Mike anxiously. "Karen, I really can't come over today, I have some things I have to do, I'm sorry…" she was interrupted by hysterical crying from Karen. "Oh, Maggie, it's horrible, just _terrible_!"she was crying. "My son, my poor son Andy…" Maggie froze. Mike could hear Karen's sobs as well, and his expression was worried, taut. "What is it Karen?" she asked. "What happened to him? Who killed him?" Mike leaned closer to her to hear the answer; they were both expecting the same thing.

They were also both not expecting the response they got. "Killed?" Karen responded, sniffing. "No, no. He's alive and fine… physically. What made you think that?" Mike and Maggie looked at each other, both knowing they had to cover this up fast. "Ummm, you know, Karen! Scaring me like that!" Maggie said with a nervous giggle. "The way you were crying, you know…" she left the sentence unfinished, unsure of what to say. "Oh," Karen said, softer this time. "I know. I'm sorry. No, he's fine. I just…" Mike gave her a thumbs up and continued to listen to the phone. "What is it, Karen?" Maggie pressed. "It's just that, you know, Andy came home from school today, and he started talking about guardian angels and things like that, and I was like, _oh, what about them Andy_?, and so he said stuff about his doll feeling like he had no one like that for him…" Maggie gave Mike a confused glance before interrupting Karen, "Karen, dear, what does this have to do with why you're worried about Andy?" Karen wails echoed through the phone into the kitchen. "Oh, Maggie! It's _psychology_! Andy is using his doll to portray _his_ feelings! He feels he has no one for himself! I'm a terrible mother, Maggie, working all the time, and not being there for my son, oh…." Mike was scribbling every word on his notepad; Maggie elbowed him sharply with disgust.

"Or maybe… maybe the doll _can_ talk?" Maggie began. "What? Maggie, are you crazy? What are you trying to say?" Mike flinched and mouthed _not good_. Maggie sucked in her breath. "Haha… just kidding, dear!" she said, trying to wave away what she had just suggested. "Karen, you are a great mother. Andy knows that. He tells me all the time that he knows just how much you love him." She frowned at Mike, who was still scratching away with his pencil. He was enjoying this scene way too much. Why didn't he stick to being a novelist? "You're doing a great job, Karen," she assured her. "You really think so?" Karen sniffed. "I know so," Maggie said again. "Trust me."

The conversation went on to meaningless things about Andy's first day at school and being called a hunk, which Maggie and Mike had a good chuckle over. When Maggie finally hung up the phone, she and Mike just looked at one another, relieved. "That was close," Maggie said finally. Mike sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, at least we know for sure, we cannot tell Karen about our suspicions about the doll." Maggie nodded. Mike stood up from his chair and stretched, muttering something about needing to use the restroom. He had left his notebook behind. Curious, and nosy as usual, Maggie opened it and read what he had written.

There was a full description of Karen and her devoted love for her son. She rolled her eyes. This man really should have stuck to writing novels.

***

Chucky wasn't really responding well. Andy knew something was wrong. He didn't want to move at all. Worse, he wasn't even rude about it. He just lay on the bed, curled into a fetal position. Whether he was cursing under his breath or just groaning in pain, Andy didn't know, but he wanted to fix it. "Chucky?" he asked for probably the millionth time. His doll didn't respond. "Chucky, answer me," he said anxiously. "Are you okay?" Chucky finally peered up at the two worried brown eyes staring down at him. "I'm fine, kid. Really. I'm just having some," he held at his stomach again. "Internal problems. I'm okay," he insisted at Andy's disbelief.

Andy frowned and watched Chucky in his pain. He knew that he was lying. He didn't just want to leave him suffering though. He had to take care of him. He looked towards the door impatiently as he tried to figure out a solution. He caught the picture of him and his dad, when he got to go to work with him one day. An idea dawned on him. "Well," he huffed determinedly at Chucky. "If you won't tell me, I'll find out myself." Chucky didn't reply, so Andy took the liberty of walking to his closet and rummage through the clothes, finally finding the box that he had not opened for a long time.

***

_Why am I feeling like this? I hate making that kid worry. It hurts to see him sad. Everything hurts. I hate this. Where did he go, anyways?_

_Don't leave me. You promised…  
><em>

Andy was putting on the plastic stethoscope around his neck when he emerged from the closet. Chucky was murmuring something to himself, but Andy could not make out what he was saying. "Excuse, me, Mr. Charles?" he said as professional like as he could. "I'm Doctor Barclay, and I'm here for your appointment." He walked over towards his bed in shoes that were too big for his feet. "I am going to turn you over now, sir," he informed him. He turned Chucky over to face him and put the stethoscope on his chest. The doll's eyes widened a bit, but he still remained silent. "Well, your heartbeat seems to be fine," he concluded. He moved the plastic instrument down to his stomach. "Hmm…" he said thoughtfully. "There seems to be some minor distributions in your tummy." He clicked the pen that was in his coat pocket and scribbled meaningless lines on a miniature clipboard. "I suggest I make you some pear-mint tea, mister," he said. He walked out his bedroom door, then peeked back in, "I'll be back, Chucky!" he told him gleefully.

***

_Omigod. I can't believe I didn't see this before…._

_We've met before, Andy Barclay…_


	8. The Gnaws of Worry

_I've always hated little girls. They tease and whisper too much. Fucking bitches. I also hate playgrounds. I hate laughter. I hate everything, damn it._

_Well, there is one thing I don't hate…  
><em>

It was Thursday afternoon during recess. A few days had passed since the mysterious explosion of the house on the corner, but the small first graders cared nothing of it. They had better things to worry about, namely who would get to the swing first or who would fall off the monkey bars and so on. Krista was convincing Quanisha to ask Andy just one more time if he would play with them. "I dunno, Krista," she responded. "I think the little guy wants to play by himself, don't you?" Krista shook her head in disagreement. "No. I just think he's shy. C'mon, just one more time, please?" Quanisha finally agreed, thought muttering that she doubted this would work.

Andy saw them coming his way. "What do I say, Chucky?" he asked nervously. Chucky could feel the small boy shaking. "What are you looking at me for?" he griped. "I always avoided the opposite sex if I could. Actually, I avoid anybody, really." Andy sighed. "Well, you didn't do such a great job of avoiding _me_," he replied, equally as grouchy because he had hoped for better advice than what he had gotten.

Chucky had no response to that.

Krista, the girl with the long, brown piggy-tails spoke first. "You wanna play with us today?" she asked cheerfully. Andy stared; his throat was dry, and he wasn't sure what to say. The little black girl piped up, "We're playing Super-Dolls. My Barbie Latifah has the power of singing, and Krista's doll Lisa has the power of… what was it you called that again?" Krista giggled. "Combat strategies," she said, her childish tongue still struggling with the words. Andy felt warmth rise up inside, and he opened his mouth before he could stop it. "Sure," he said. The girls looked as if they could have jumped miles into the sky. "Great!" Krista exclaimed. Quanisha gave Andy's doll a look-over. "What's your doll's super-power?" Andy looked spitefully at Chucky. He was still a little miffed at how the doll was behaving lately. "Who, Chucky?" he asked slowly. At the girls' nod, he got a slightly devious idea, and he grinned. "Chucky doesn't have super-powers."

"Uhh, well then, what's he gonna do?" Quanisha asked. "He can be the damsel in distress," Andy said simply. Chucky gagged, which startled the girls once again. "Excuse… _what?_!" he exclaimed. "I am not going to be no _fucking_…" Andy stood up and lifted Chucky with him. "Yah," he said, ignoring him. "Your dolls can rescue mine." He smiled. Krista pointed at Chucky. "He… he can _talk_?" she asked. Quanisha stood with her mouth agape. Andy rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately," he said. "Wow," Quanisha breathed. She touched Chucky in awe. "He's like, for real. Like Toy Story real." Chucky bit at her fingers. "Don't touch me!" he spat. Quanisha and Krista jumped back, but Andy scowled at Chucky and smacked his mouth. "Bad Chucky," he said, making the girls giggle. "We don't bite girls."

"These aren't girls," Chucky argued. "These are aliens…" Andy shook his head. "He's alright, really," he told them. Krista nodded. "Well, you wanna play now?" Andy laughed. "Yah," he said. "I'm ready. Where should I put Chucky?"

After what seemed like hours to Chucky of playing this ridiculous game that the two girls had invented, they finally lay down in the grass, all still laughing and flushed from all the exercise. "Phew," Andy sighed, putting his arms around Chucky in mock relief. "Thanks for saving my doll, Super Lisa and Latifah." Krista picked up her doll and moved her arms. "You are sooo welcome, Andy!" she said in a sing-song voice, making them all laugh again. "Hey," Quanisha fake barked. "Tell your doll Chucky to be more realistic next time. He didn't scream one bit like a damsel in distress would." Chucky growled. "That's because I didn't really need rescuing, you stupid…" he began, but at Andy's face he fell silent and simply scowled grotesquely."It's just pretend, Chucky," he said. "Yah," Krista added. "We know you weren't in any real trouble. Else we would have called the teacher, that's what we'd do, right Quanisha?" The black girl was holding her Barbie up in the air, singing at the top of her lungs, "I need a hero! I'm holdin' out for a hero till the end of the night!" Krista laughed. "That's from Shrek, isn't it?" she asked. Quanisha nodded. "You're really good at that," Andy said. Quanisha looked at him. "At what?" she asked. "Singing," Andy replied, somewhat sheepishly.

"You think so?" Quanisha asked. At Andy's nod she went on. "I'm gonna be a famous singer one day," she proclaimed. "I'm gonna sing just like Rihanna and Beyoncé and all those other famous people!" Chuck rolled his eyes. "Yah, and sing all those stupid love songs like them too," he said. Krista just looked at him. "Andy, no offense, I love Chucky and all, but why is he so… um…" Andy finished her sentence. "Grouchy? I don't know. He's not always… never mind, actually, he is kinda always like that." Quanisha turned over to look at them. Then she snapped her fingers. "Omigosh!" she exclaimed. "He's gotta be sick!" Andy looked confused. "Who, Chucky?" he asked, with his doll saying, "Who, me? With what?" at the same time. "Yah, _you_!" Quanisha said. "There's _no way_ a healthy, normal person is grumpy _all _the time!"  
>Krista nodded. "That's true…" she began.<p>

"Well," said Andy slowly. "He did have something wrong with his tummy…" The girls began coming up with several explanations, from seasonal flu to tuber-cu-lis-us, as Krista called it. Try as he might to say otherwise, Chucky could not get Andy to listen to him. It was clear something was wrong with Andy's doll. He was sick with something. "Let's ask Ms. Kettlewell!" Krista said suddenly. "She'll know what to do!" The children ran towards their teacher, much as Chucky complained and tried to convince them to stop. "Ms. Kettlewell! Ms. Kettlewell!" they shouted. Their teacher looked up, concerned. Whatever could be wrong? Was someone hurt? "Ms. Kettlewell, Chucky is sick!" Andy cried. "Yah, real sick!" Quanisha chimed in. "We don't know what he's diagnosed with!" Krista added. "And he could die!" Andy ended dramatically. There were three pairs of wide eyes looking up at their teachers. She smiled to herself; oh, the innocence of child's play.

"Alright," she said as seriously as she could. "Tell me the symptoms." Andy held up Chucky so she could look at him. "His tummy hurts," he said. "He's grumpy all the time!" Krista said. "And… he's a potty-mouth!" Quanisha said. Ms. Kettlewell looked up, mildly alarmed. "What?" she asked. "You know, a potty-mouth," Quanisha began. "He said the f-u-c…" Ms. Kettewell laughed nervously and interrupted her. "Alright-y then, honey, let's not repeat that," she said. Gravely, she gave her hypothesis. "For that potty-mouth, I suggest you wash his mouth out with soap. For that stomach-ache, I would say," she put her finger up to her lips in thought. "Yes. Chicken soup will do." The children responded with a chorus of "Yumm!" and "I like that stuff!" She smiled. "And, for that entire grouch," she concluded, giving Andy back his doll, "I say all he needs is lots of love." Andy took Chucky and squeezed him tight. "I can do that!" he said happily.

As she ushered her students back into the classroom, a thought occurred to her. Where did these children get these ideas from? She knew Quanisha's mother was a policewoman; perhaps that little girl heard too much? Krista seemed alright, but it was Andy that really worried her. He had a very strong attachment to that doll. It was almost a bit frightening. Especially for a boy, this sort of clinging was a bit unhealthy. She wondered what was going on at home. "Don't be silly, Rachel," she chided herself. But still, as she watched Andy quietly slide into his seat and whisper in his doll's ear, she couldn't help but feel that something was wrong.

Her worries were stretched even more when she began grading papers after the bell had rung and the children had gone home. Andy had written the answers, alright, but it was what was written on top of it that startled her. In red crayon, it said,

_ You think you're so nice, huh? Damn teacher. You're all the same. Lying through your teeth, about love and fairness; you're just as bad as the other bullies in the school._

_You're a bitch, you know that? I know that. I know everything…_

***

_Everything feels in balance now. I knew something was off.  
><em>

Andy saw it on the news. There was a man who had died in the house that had exploded that day. No one could figure out how the house had suddenly caught on fire the way it did. He looked at Chucky, "Isn't that weird?" he asked him. Chucky just shrugged. When Chucky was quiet, Andy knew something was up. That was how his doll behaved when he was hiding something, or when he was lying. But what was he hiding? Andy thought they were friends. Friends don't hide things from each other. They just don't. "Chucky," he said. "What?" his doll growled at him. "I know you're lying," Andy replied. He could hear the couch squeak as Chucky squirmed. "Listen, Andy, there's just some things…" But Andy wouldn't take that. "Chucky…" he almost growled.

"Alright, fine!" Chucky relented. "I blew up the house, okay? I killed that guy." Andy's eyes widened. "Chucky!" he gasped. "How could you? Killing is _bad_!" Chucky shook his head. "Not in this case," he said. "He deserved it." Andy's face fell, disappointment was obvious on his face. "Chucky," he said slowly. "Killing is never right. Even for revenge. I could try to kill whoever hit my dad in the car accident, but I don't want to do that. It wouldn't bring my dad back." Chucky looked away, but Andy made him face up again. "Whatever that guy did to you, killing him didn't take it away did it?" Chucky shook his head again. "But it made me feel better," he griped. Andy held Chucky close to him. "Please don't do stuff like that," he whispered. "If you become some scary killer, what am I going to do? We couldn't be friends anymore. _Promise_ me you won't do stuff like that anymore?"

His doll only nodded. Andy decided to trust him, but something felt wrong…

***

_I suppose it's better he knew. It will help him in the long run, to realize what I really am. Especially since I'm going to have to leave him anyways._

_It feels good to be the one doing the betraying this time. But my stomach is gnawing at me again…_


	9. Secrets

_Must I always tell you my secrets? What is it about you that makes me want to just…_

_Let go…_

***

Andy was awakened Saturday morning by two things. One, the sound of a large truck pulling into the parking lot of the apartment division; two, his doll sliding off the bed and grabbing onto him as he fell. "Stop!" he was screaming. They fell to the floor, tangled in bed sheets and covers. "Ow, Chucky!" Andy whined. What was that for?" He rubbed his side, which had landed on one of his old robots. "That hurt." He paused, thinking. "Stop what?" Chucky opened his eyes to see Andy staring at him. "What? I didn't say anything like that. You must have been imagining things." Andy shook his head. "Whatever, Chucky. I know what I heard." He untangled himself from the mess of sleep and walked to his window to find out the source of the other occurrence that disturbed his sleep-in.

It was a large truck, for sure. It was a moving van, actually. "Woah, new people!" Andy breathed. He pressed his nose against the cold morning glass, leaving fog on the window pane from his breath. "You think maybe they have kids, Chucky?" His doll grunted as he crawled over to the window and slowly climbed up next to him. "Doubt it," he grunted. Andy looked over at him, about to lecture Chucky about being so cranky in the morning, but the doll's bed-hair made him double-over with laughter. "You look _hillar-ous,_ Chucky!" he snickered, rolling around on the carpet. Chucky growled. "Oh, cram it, you little weevil," he muttered, trying to fix his hair.

The footsteps of his mother walking to the hall door got Andy's attention. He ran to the door and listened intently. "Oh, how nice to meet you!" she was saying. "And this is?" An older woman's voice responded, "Kyle. Our foster child," she was saying. Andy wiggled in excitement. "Another kid!" he exclaimed. "A boy my age, maybe! Right?" He picked Chucky up in his arms and opened the door, ignoring Chucky's remarks of how Kyle was probably a college dweeb.

To be honest, Andy had expected a small boy his age. What he got instead was neither that nor Chucky's suggestion. Kyle was a teen girl. She was leaning on her left side, chewing gum and looking everywhere else but at them. She appeared to be bored, and what some would call a rebel. Andy stepped back a bit to take her in, and she noticed him, but didn't change expression, except to frown at the doll. Andy looked down to see Chucky frowning back. "Nice doll you got there, kid," she said. "Who, me?" Andy choked out, then realized that was a stupid thing to ask. "Thanks." His mother and her foster parents were still becoming acquainted with each other, and neither girl nor boy knew what else to say to the other, so they became relatively silent, and simply stared at one another. Occasionally Kyle would pop the gum in her mouth, but beyond that, only the sound of the adults chatting neighborly was heard.

At last Karen closed the door as she gave her good-byes to the new tenants. "They seem alright, huh, Andy?" she asked. Andy nodded, but he wasn't entirely too sure of how he felt about Kyle. She seemed intimidating and cold. Andy just hoped he was wrong.

***

_ I don't like that girl. She gives those depreciating looks. Especially at Andy. Nobody needs to look at him like that. He's… _

…_she just shouldn't do that…  
><em>

Andy was sitting on the kitchen counter with his mother, holding his doll in his lap. They had just finished playing Monopoly, which Chucky cheated on, or so he told his mother. He peeked around the bright orange hair to watch her slowly spread peanut butter and jelly on the slices of bread. "One for me, and one for my Andy," she was saying. "One for Chucky too, Mommy," Andy interrupted. "He's hungrier than an elephant!" Karen laughed, and Andy thought his mother had never looked prettier than right now, smiling in their small kitchen with the afternoon sun bouncing off her blonde curls. "Well, then, why don't you and Chucky share?" she suggested, cutting Andy's sandwich in half. "Then we can make more if you're still hungry." Andy nodded, stuffing his half in his mouth. "Mm, mm… ee up 'ucky," he said through the food in his mouth. He took the other half and pushed it towards his doll's lips. 

"Don't make a mess, Andy," Karen warned. The doorbell rang suddenly, and she turned to walk towards the door. "Who could that be?" she asked curiously. Andy shrugged as she twisted the doorknob. "You done, Chucky?" he asked his doll. "Yah, but don't choke me next time. I ain't got that big of a mouth," Chucky grunted at him. "Seems pretty big to me," Andy replied. They looked at each other and laughed. "You got crumbs on your face, Chucky," Andy observed. "So do you," Chucky responded simply. "Probably from wharfing that food down like an animal. Doesn't your mother teach you manners?" Andy rolled his eyes playfully. "Whatever, Chucky," he said. "Here, lemme clean you off," Chucky squirmed. "I can clean myself, Andy!" he urged. "Stay still, Chucky! Look, you can clean me off too," Andy compromised.

The two wiped each other's face. Then Andy went to the door with Chucky to see who his mother was talking to. "Yah, so they sent me to give you this basket, and they said if you need anything, we're here." It was that girl, Kyle, again. "Oh, thank you, honey," Karen said gratefully. "I think I'm good right…" the phone rang. "Excuse me, Kyle," she said, running to the phone. Once again, Andy and Kyle were left to look at each other in awkward silence. "Wasn't your doll frowning last time I saw him?" Kyle asked. Andy looked down to see that, indeed, now Chucky had a smile plastered to his face. "I dunno," he said, shrugging, not knowing what else to say. Chucky got onto him all the time, telling him to make sure no one else knew he was real, and yet he had changed faces and made things look suspicious. Andy huffed.

Karen had returned from the phone. "Kyle?" she asked. The girl looked up from the doll, who she had been observing curiously. "Yah, Mrs. Barclay?" she responded somewhat distractedly. "Kyle, I'm so sorry. Did your parents mean you as well could do something for me?" she asked, sounding a little desperate. "Well, no, but I could…" Kyle began cautiously. "Oh, good! Listen, can you watch my son for a little while? An hour or two maybe? I… I just have to go to work and…." Kyle waved it off. "It's fine, it's fine," she said in that same bored tone. "I got this. He's potty-trained, right?" Karen stopped in surprise. "What?" she asked, reaching for her jacket on the hook. "Oh, yes, yes, very funny…" she said breathlessly, sliding her arm through the sleeves. Kyle smirked. "Then we're good," she said, as if that was all babysitting was about. Karen was still buttoning up her coat as she snatched her purse and headed out the door. "Thank you, thank you," she sighed. "Listen, you have liberties to all the food in the fridge, and if you need anything, Andy knows my number, but you shouldn't have any trouble, Andy's a good kid…" she rambled on as she practically ran down the hallway.

"Don't worry, I got this!" Kyle shouted after her. Then she shut the door and turned to the boy still looking at her. "What do you want, kid?" she asked. Andy gulped. "Nothing. I'm good. My name's Andy," he said. Kyle rolled her eyes. "Okay, _Andy_. Aren't you a little old for…" she paused, looking at Chucky as if she was deciding what to call him. "Dolls?" Andy shrugged. "I'm only six," he replied, as if that made a difference. "Whatever," Kyle sighed, flopping on the couch and turning on the television, somehow signifying the end of their conversation. "Just don't make a mess or anything." Andy nodded, but she wasn't looking, so he walked quietly to his room and shut the door.

As soon as the clicking sound of the doorknob was heard, Chucky seemed to spring to life. "That bitch," he growled. "I oughta…" He made fist and tried to lunge for the door, but Andy held him back. "Chucky, please, cut it out," he said. "Don't get so mad about this." Chucky was still muttering. "And don't call her that. She's not _that_ mean. Maybe she's just shy or something." Chucky whirled on him. "Shy? No. You are shy. She's a… she's something else. And you just stood there and let her step all over you…" Andy sat on the carpet and turned his doll roughly to face him. "And just what was I supposed to do, Chucky?" he asked angrily. "You want me to _blow up_ her apartment room?" They both knew what he was referring to. "Andy…" Chucky began. Either it was because he just wanted to, or his legs gave way, but he sat down in Andy's lap. "Why do you have to be so angry all the time, Chucky?" Andy asked. "Why do you have to be so happy?" his doll responded. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the clock and the sound of the television. "I just don't want you to be treated like a piece of sh… like trash," Chucky corrected himself. "You wanna survive in this world, you gotta be tough, like me. You gotta be a little ruthless."

"You mean like everybody else? Wow, Chucky, I can see why the world is the way it is now. Thanks for that," Andy said. Chucky looked up at him, bewildered. "But, Andy, don't you understand?" he asked, almost desperately. "If you just… _give_ your heart away… people crush it." Andy sighed. "Yah, and if you don't, you'll be alone. Chucky, you gotta take risks. Things happen. I should probably stop breathing so I won't suck in any bacteria," said, rolling his eyes. Chucky leaned against him sadly. "I just don't want you to get hurt," he said softly. Andy looked down at his doll's forlorn face. His eyes looked clouded and sad. "You've gotten hurt, haven't you, Chucky?" Andy asked calmly. "You've gotten hurt a lot, and now you're scared." Chucky tried to go into denial, but he didn't have the will.

***

_ So I told him. I told him everything. But most importantly, I told him about my dad. He used to be so amazing. I loved him more than anything, and he loved me. But one day, war called. So it was off to the army with him. I waited everyday for him to come home. I remember sitting at the window, seeing the shadows and thinking that maybe one of them was him._

_Then, finally, he came home. I was so happy to see him. I ran to meet him, to hug him, to tell him how much I missed him. But he shoved me away. The father I knew was different. The war had changed him._

_My father wasn't the same when he came back from the war…_

_That girl, Kyle, came in after a while. I don't know what was up with her, but she suddenly had changed her mind about Andy. She looked like she had been crying. Maybe she had an epiphany? She realized that Andy wasn't so bad? Whatever it was, she told him he could sit with her on the couch._

_Andy's fingers are in my hair now. I don't know if he realizes it. But it's alright; it feels kind of nice._

_When was the last time someone touched me gently like this? _

__

  
>Karen was walking to her car from the office. It was nearly mid-night. She reminded herself to apologize to Kyle when she got home. "I told her two hours. Two hours!" she was chiding herself. "I should have never… I should have known Mr. Daylee would keep me so long… I swear he has Alzheimer's…" she was muttering to herself for such a long time, she had walked halfway across the parking lot when she realized she had passed her car several steps back. "Oh, goodness," she huffed in irritation. There weren't any cars left in the parking lot beyond her and her boss' except for one forlorn Honda Civic.<p>

As she started back towards the building, a moving shadow caught her eye. She stiffened and peered out into the darkness, hoping she had seen wrong. Unfortunately, she had seen correctly. A street bum was headed her way. She walked a bit faster, hastening her steps to put distance between them, but the time she had taken to glance at the shape had given him time to catch up to her side. "Hey, missus," he slurred. He was drunk, and he had a strong stench of… filth. Karen knew whoever this man was, he was involved in more than one dirty trade, and she wanted no part of it. She pretended to ignore him, and reached in her purse for anything that could come in handy as a weapon against him. "Wait up, lil lady!" he called again. "I gotta cozy place fer you n me…" He reached for her, but she instinctively smacked it away. "Excuse me," she said sternly as she could. "But I have to go home to my son."

It was the wrong thing to say. "Oh, so you have kids, too huh? They can stay with Uncle Johnny… no worries missus, I take good care of young 'uns…" he urged, reaching for her arm again. She dodged his aim, but he was sobering now, and his aim would not be so careless next time. Her heart was beating really fast; if she didn't get away, her biggest worry was for Andy. She couldn't let him lose his mother too! She broke into a run. The drunker began to shout. The Honda Civic turned on and started towards her. I'm trapped, she thought. I'm trapped, and I've failed Andy, and Kyle. The car skidded to next to her, and she was surprised to see who was inside.

"Mrs. Barclay, please, come in." It was Norris, with urgency in his voice. She jumped back, startled. "What? What are you doing here?" The street bum was catching up to her again. "Hurry!" Norris exclaimed. When she still stood in bewilderment, he lunged for her arm and pulled her in, slamming the door shut. He eased her over to the passenger's side and put the car in drive, then sped out of the parking lot away from the yelling drunk. "Thank you," Karen said, a bit breathlessly. He had saved her life, after all. Her and Andy's. She owed him that much. "But what were you doing here?" Norris drove silently. Karen cleared her throat. "Mr. Norris?" she asked. "Oh, um, you can call me Mike, ma'am," he said politely. Karen stared at him; this seemingly awkward man was the same detective she detested? "Mr. No… I mean, Mike, what were you doing there?" she asked again. "I…" he began. He sighed and swallowed. "Please don't laugh at me."

Karen felt a bit insulted. "Why on earth would I laugh? I mean this seriously. You aren't in league with that bum, are you?" she pressed. "Oh, no. No," Mike said quickly. "I was just… looking for inspiration." He kept his eyes on the road, so Karen could not see his expression. She was confused. "Inspiration for what?" she asked suspiciously. "What could be so inspiring about an old parking lot?" Mike sighed. "Mrs. Barclay," he began, but Karen interrupted him to say, "Karen's fine, Mike." He started again. "Karen, you should know something about me." He looked over to the other lane and signaled before crossing over. The evening lights looked like stars. "I shouldn't be a detective, Karen," he said softly. He felt her eyes on him. "I was a writer. A romance novelist, actually. I wasn't that popular, and back then I went by Walter Norris."

Karen gave a gasp. "Omigosh!" She grabbed his arm. "You… you wrote The Long Await! Didn't you?" At Mike's nod, she went on. "My husband bought me when we were dating back in college! We would read it to each other all the time. It was beautiful!" She stopped, saddened by the reminder that the old days were gone. "Those days were great, those college days," she mentioned quietly. Mike gave a glance at her. "They were," he agreed with an equal feeling of loss. "Back then was when I opened up, found the world…" his heart was in his throat; he had never told anyone this before. But the drive was long, and somebody had to know. "Back when I found Madeline." Karen waited in the silence that followed; she knew that this was a touchy subject, but he had brought it up, so…

"Who's Madeline?" she asked. Mike skid the car to the side. Time seemed to stand still as they sat there, cars passing by on the highway. "Madeline… Madeline was my everything…" he choked. "She was the one who showed me the world. She painted my empty canvas of life! We were going to be married…" Karen was seeing him shake; she couldn't tell whether it was from anger or if he was crying. "We were going to be married," he was still saying softly to himself. "She'd sing to me, I'd read to her… God, I remember everything about her. Even what she smelled like…" Karen sighed sympathetically; she knew that feeling. The way she felt about her Andrew. "What happened?" she asked softly. Mike gripped the steering wheel. "She died…" he whispered. "On our wedding day. Charles Lee Ray killed her…"

***  
><em>Once upon a time, there was a man. A man who wrote so much about love, yet doubted he himself would ever find it. But one day, he found an angel. She lead him to heaven on earth. She was his salvation. Unfortunately, she had to return to the sky. Death, in the form of a serial killer, took her from him. She was found hanging over the church's front steps. Desperately, he tried to save her, but he was too late. She was slipping away. Even in death, she fought to make something clear. "Michael, honey, Charles Lee Ray… he's only… he's just… I love you…" The man became determined to reveal the rest of his beloved's sentence, only to find the killer dead years later…<br>_

Karen was crying. Mike was crying. It was raining. "I'm… I'm so sorry," she said slowly. Mike was starting the car again. "It's fine," he replied. "I'm… I'm getting used to it." Karen sighed and touched his shoulder gently. "But it never really goes away, huh? Instead of haunting the killer, you feel like maybe she haunts you?" Mike seemed startled. "How… how…?" Karen smiled almost mechanically. "I guess I owe you one, right?" she said, then pointed at a street. "Left." Mike turned the car and waited for her to go on. "He was late coming home," she began. "It was storming like crazy. I lied. I told my son that he died in a car accident… but it wasn't that at all…" she held herself to try to stop the pain, but the memories kept flooding back. Mike reached for her. "It's alright, Karen," he said comfortingly. "We loners will find a way. But, maybe now you understand why I'm so eager to find Charles, right?" Karen shook her head. "Mike, he's dead. It's over. Finding him won't change a thing." Mike had to disagree. "Listen Karen, when I found him dead, I discovered that maybe, maybe I had found what Madeline was trying to tell me…

***  
><em><br>I feel so warm. The drumbeat I hear is so soothing…_

Karen stepped into her apartment. Kyle, Andy and the doll were all resting on the couch, the TV still going. She looked at the doll closely, almost reaching out to touch it, but Andy awoke then. "Mommy," he said with a sleepy grin. Kyle heard his voice and jumped. "What? No, it's over there…" she said, still waking from her dream. "Oh, Mrs. Barclay. You're home." She yawned and stretched. "I better get back to my apartment." Karen helped her up. "I'm so sorry, honey, my boss kept me later than I thought. Please give your parents my apologies." Kyle nodded. "No problem, Mrs. Barclay," she said. "Oh, by the way, some lady called. I let her leave a message." Karen nodded and headed to the phone as Kyle headed out the door. She pressed the message replay button and listened only halfway to a woman's voice, "Mrs. Barclay, this is Mrs. Kettlewell, Andy's teacher. I wanted to talk to you about him. He's a sweetheart, but there are some things…"

Karen's mind was somewhere else. She was still thinking about what Mike had told her, even as she put Andy and his doll in the bed. What he had said he had discovered.

_"He's only a child…"_


	10. The Schoolyard Bully

_Pushing me down. All the time. They made fun of me for being so small. They didn't know half of the reasons why I was the way I was. They didn't understand, and no one cared. I hated the schoolyard bullies, and that was basically all the kids, so I hated every one of them…_

***

Brett Shelton was not a very nice first grader. He was a bit manipulative, and he liked to poke fun at people for various reasons. He was a bit jealous of Andy Barclay; the new kid was talked about by everyone, not only because of his doll, but because of his personality. Everyone liked Andy. He was nice, and he was polite. Brett felt his position was threatened. Of course, kids were his friends, but truth was, it was only because they were scared of him. Normally, he was okay with that, but now that Andy was around, all the kids ran to play with him instead. What was so great about Andy, anyways? He bet that kid couldn't fight, and he hung out with those girls more than he did with the other boys. Plus, he had a doll, and that was a sissy thing to have when you were a boy of six.

He was watching him now. He hated him, he hated the boy who everyone liked, the boy who was quiet and shy. He hated how those girls loved to play with him- especially Quanisha, he wanted her to be his friend, not Andy's. He hated how Andy was stealing her from him. He hated that doll, too, with its stupid smile and phrases that made Andy laugh and hug it close. He didn't want Andy to laugh; he wanted him to cry and be miserable because he, Brett, was miserable.

He crossed the playground across the swings to the dome shaped monkey bars where Andy and the girls were. What were they doing anyways? Talking? Andy should be playing kickball, like a real boy, not chatting with the girls like he was one of them! He growled inwardly at how the girls laughed at something he said. Quanisha was laughing the loudest; she looked so pretty when she laughed. How dare Andy steal that moment away from him! He rapped his knuckles against the metal bar, startling them.

"I like to be hugged!" That stupid doll. And they acted like it was real. Everyone knows dolls can't really move, or talk. They should know that. He looked at them as mean and as threatening as a six year old boy could. "What are you dummies doing?" he asked angrily. Quanisha was frowning at him now; he hated that. Andy was hugging the doll and saying some garb about how he liked to hug it. Gross. "Why do you do that?" he demanded the other boy. Andy looked at him, confused. "Because I do," he said, as if it was obvious, don't you know that, Brett? He hated that too. How simple Andy was. Krista didn't even hold back a laugh. They thought Andy was so funny, didn't they? He wondered how cool they'd think Andy was if he beat him up. "Well, why even play with dolls in the first place?" he went on. "Isn't that for girls?" Andy just kept staring at him. There was no sadness in his eyes, just deeper confusion. "How so?" he asked.

"Because it just is!" Brett exclaimed. The three children were looking at him now. They knew he was mad, but they didn't know why. "What's your problem, Brett?" Krista asked. She was frowning. "What now, Andy? You need a girl to protect you? Or maybe that dumb doll." Now Andy was frowning. "Chucky is not dumb," he said defensively. "He's my friend." He was standing; was he standing up against him? No way. Brett stepped closer so that his face was up in Andy's. "Dolls don't talk, dummy," he said. "Everybody knows that." Andy shook his head. "Actually, Chucky does," he responded. "He talks all the time."

That was it. Brett shoved that smart-alec boy down against the wood chips. The girls gasped. He smiled; maybe now Quanisha would play with him since he was the biggest boy on the playground. Maybe Andy would cry. He kicked Andy as he tried to get up. "You're a dummy," he said again. "You won't even fight back." Andy, of course, did not fight back.

But his doll did.

"You little bastard!" The children covered their ears. "Chucky, no," Andy was saying. "Don't." The doll- it was walking towards him! It was moving, and it was talking! "Don't you dare shove him down again like that." It pushed him against the ground; Brett fought back, but the doll was punching him hard for plastic fists. "Chucky, stop!" Andy was screaming. He was trying to peel the doll off of him, but it was still hitting, yelling, "Don't you ever touch Andy like that. Don't you _ever_ talk to him like that! You leave him alone, you little piece of shit! You don't know anything about him; you have no right..!" he was still screaming when the girls finally came to and helped the struggling Andy pull the doll off of him. "Chucky, please, calm down, what have I told you about all this mean stuff?" Andy was asking desperately. Brett sat up and wiped his bloody nose. "Are you okay?" Quanisha was asking. Krista was just staring, openmouthed, waiting for an answer.

He growled. This was not the way he wanted to look to the girls. He got beat up by a doll. A doll! He was so angry, and he would have started fighting again, but the doll was looking at him with fierce blue eyes that were reminding him of who was the better fighter. Andy was apologizing to him. "Get away from me!" he screeched at the boy with the doll. Then he stomped away from them. "I'm telling on all of you!" he yelled back at them. He hoped they would all get in trouble. Especially Andy. It was his fault he got beat up. If Andy hadn't made him so mad, he wouldn't have picked on him, and that doll would have never hurt him. He wiped the blood off his elbow and went to find his teacher. She would get them in trouble. Then everything would be fair.

***

_Serves him right. How dare he touch my Andy._

***

Ms. Kettlewell was having her conference with Mrs. Barclay in the small, colorful classroom when Brett stormed in angrily. "Ms. Kettlewell!" he exclaimed. The women looked up from their deep conversation over the desk in confusion. "Look at my arms! And my nose!" he was shouting. Ms. Kettlewell gave him a concerned look-over. "Brett, sweetie, how in the world did you get all banged up like that? You need to be careful when you play kickball." Karen watched as the roughed up boy crossed his arms; she could see where he had been scratched up. "That's not it," he said in frustration. "It was Andy. He beat me up, and I didn't even do nothin'!" Ms. Kettlewell gave Karen a glance, and the blonde woman was at a loss for words. "_My_ Andy?" she asked. The teacher nodded slowly. "Brett, go on to the nurse's office. I'll talk to Andy."

The boy seemed satisfied with himself as he left the classroom. Karen was shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, Ms. Kettlewell, I had no idea… Andy is so good at home…" Ms. Kettlewell put a hand on hers. "Don't worry about this fight," she said. "Brett is known to be a little rough, and I honestly doubt Andy did anything to him…" But they were both looking at the obscenity on the paper. "I didn't even know he knew those words," Karen murmured. "And he always tells me how much he loves you." Ms. Kettlewell sighed. "I don't want to believe it was him, Mrs. Barclay," she agreed. "Andy is a sweet kid. He never, ever causes trouble. I just wanted to know if maybe there was some sort of anger he's holding inside, something that he takes out on his papers or school… or me." 

Karen slumped on the large oak desk. "His father died. He was murdered. I lied and told him it was just a car accident. Andy wasn't allowed to see his father's body. He cried so much. I work all the time, so he's alone a lot." She could feel her eyes watering. "I… I just don't know. He doesn't show any sign of this behavior at home…" She pressed her hand against her face. Ms. Kettlewell handed her a tissue. "It's alright, Mrs. Barclay," she said softly. "It's not your fault, really. Maybe this is a big misunderstanding. Maybe someone else wrote this on his paper. Because, I've been thinking, now that we've looked at it again, this…" she turned the sheet so that Karen could see it. "This doesn't look like Andy's handwriting. Does it?"

The women observed. "Another child from the classroom perhaps?" Karen said, though she honestly wondered what child in first grade would have the nerve or the knowledge to use such language. "That's the thing. It doesn't look like any child's handwriting," Ms. Kettlewell said, shifting through the other worksheets. "This look like it was written with a smaller hand, someone who had trouble holding the crayon, and none of my kids show that." Ms. Kettlewell continued to stare at the sheet in confusion, but Karen had a thought suddenly dawn on her. What was it that Mike had said about that night? No. She pushed that away. Impossible.

Dolls don't talk. And they don't move.

***

Andy was sitting in the office. Brett had continued to tell his tale, including to the principal, so there was no way out. "I believe you, Andy," his teacher had told him. "But I'm afraid other people don't. And we have no explanation, do we?" Andy had shook his head and slid out of his desk to the office, nearly dragging Chucky behind him.

He elbowed the doll. "See what happens when you get all mad and agg-er-essive?" he said. "I get in trouble. Maybe you should come to life now since it's so unfair that I get in trouble for what you did." Chucky held onto his hand tightly. "I'm sorry, kid," he replied softly. "I just couldn't sit there and watch you get humiliated by that jack-ass." He laid his cheek against Andy's arm shifting into his doll form just as the principal came out. "Andy Barclay?" he asked. Andy nodded. The principal gestured into his office.

***

_ Keep Andy safe. I would a million times over rather have been in the office with the principal than with those brats. Keep him safe. From them, anyways.  
><em>

_From me is a different story…  
><em> 

Andy was a car-rider for the day. "Did you get in trouble?" Krista asked him as he sat down next to her and waited for his mom. Quanisha was running toward the back of the school to catch her bus. He nodded. "Not too bad, though, since Principal said this was my first time," he said. Krista blew out her breath hotly. "I hate that Brett Shelton. He thinks he's so great. And he always gets his way. One time, he spilled milk on my dress and blamed it on Quanisha. That's how we became friends, you know. 'Cuz we had to sit in the office together and get stuff cleared up." Andy smiled. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one Brett picked on.

Finally, his mother's Sedan pulled up against the school curb. He waved to Krista and walked to his car. His mother was smiling as he opened the door and climbed in. "Hey, Andy," she said softly. "How was your day?" Andy hung his head. "I got in trouble," he said. Karen feigned surprise. "What? For what, honey?" Andy shrugged. "I didn't do it. Some boy named Brett got beat up and he blamed it on me. I don't think he likes me all too much." Karen watched her son sadly. There was no way that Andy was doing the things it seemed he was. But who else was to blame? Who else…?

"Andy," she began cautiously. "You said Chucky talks to you right?" Andy nodded. "Yeah, but you don't believe me, remember? 'Cuz you said that dolls don't talk." Karen nodded. "I know," she said. "But, assuming I'm wrong, I'm curious. What exactly does Chucky tell you? And Andy, I want you to tell me everything…"

***

_There are some things I've told Andy that are meant to be kept secret. I hope he knows that. I hope he doesn't tell anything. I hope he makes stuff up.  
><em>

_But Andy is not a good liar, which probably means I'm screwed…_


	11. The Worst Four Words

_Shit. Now she knows. And the thing that makes me so fuckin' pissed?_

_It's my fault…_

Mike was resting in bed. It was one in the afternoon, but he just did not feel like getting up. He was still reminiscing over everything. Over college, and Madeline. He was hearing her voice again. He remembered the first day he met her. He was sitting alone in the large eating grounds, scribbling in his notebook about a knight and his chivalrous personality. Madeline had joined him, without his consent. She had long, dark hair. He loved that hair. "What are you writing there, stranger?" she asked cheerily. The autumn leaves were everywhere. He thought she had looked perfect with the season. It was both their favorite, the fall. He couldn't quite remember what he had babbled out to her in response, but he knew it had sounded stupid, and she had laughed. But not cruelly. Not Madeline. She thought he was amazing. He thought she was an angel with happy eyes.

The phone ringing got his attention. He jumped from under the sheets to the phone. It was probably Maggie. She usually called for their investigating.

It was Karen Barclay.

"Mrs. Barclay?" he asked, unsure of exactly how their relationship was standing. They had somewhat bonded that one night, but Mike knew from too many personal experiences that women changed their minds like they changed clothes, or however that song went. "Oh, Mr. Norris… Mike, I mean… and you can still call me Karen, you know… I have something to tell you…" There was urgency in her voice. He almost asked her about Andy, but remembered what happened last time. "Karen, what's the matter?" he inquired as professionally as he could. "Ummm… do you remember what you told me that night? About my son's doll?" Mike felt himself blush. Yes, he remembered. He told her about his theory that the doll was real. "Yes, madam. You laughed at me." There was silence for a while. "Well," she said hesitantly. "I'm not laughing now. That little creep _bit_ me."

It would almost have been Mike's turn to laugh, but this was too serious. "Karen, are you hurt too badly? Is the doll still there?" He heard the panic rising in her breathing. "That's the thing, Mike," she began to cry. " I shook him off. I couldn't find him after that. I had to find a way to tell Andy that Chuck went out for a while and he would just have to go to school today without him, and I'm glad that it's that way, but… where would Ray be now? He's already killed my husband; oh mercy, please don't tell me he's after my little boy too!" She was in slight hysterics, and Mike, the novelist, had no words to comfort her. So he did what he could. He stood there, in his boxers, and listened to her cry, just listened, and every once in a while, he told her that he _would take care of it, Karen, it's going to be alright…  
><em>

_I couldn't help it; that woman picked me up. I didn't know what was happening, she was opening the back of my clothes. That, I'm afraid Missie, is not allowed. No one undresses me except me._

_Not anymore._

_I was in the elevator when they saw me. That girl Kyle's parents. "My," the woman had sniffed. She was looking at me disdainfully. "What an ugly doll." _

_More than you know, lady. More than you know.  
><em>

Andy was sitting in class at four, past the school bell. He was glad that he had Ms. Kettlewell for detention, because she understood that it wasn't his fault. "I'm so sorry about Brett, Andy," she kept saying. "I wish there was some way I could prove him wrong." Andy smiled while writing for what felt like the hundredth time, _I do not push or hit my friends_. "It's okay, teacher," he said happily. "Now we can spend more time together!" Ms. Kettlewell laughed; if she had had any lingering doubts about Andy, they were gone now, gone long down the road. "Well, good. I'm glad you feel that way. What do you want to talk about?" Andy frowned. He had something he wanted to talk about alright. Something he didn't really get to talk about to his mother this morning.

Ms. Kettlewell was getting a little concerned with what she was hearing, and she was going to say something to Andy when the phone rang. "Excuse me, honey," she said, getting up from her seat. Andy nodded as he watched his teacher pick up the phone and leave the classroom. She had no heels; he liked that about her. All the other teachers seemed so high and far away, but she was like them. She cared about him, and he, Andy, knew it. He went back to writing his sentences over and over. A sound at the window caught his attention. Actually, it sounded like it came from under the window. He knew part of the rules was to stay in his seat, but he was sure Ms. Kettlewell wouldn't mind. Besides, he had to see what was there. He scooted his chair back and tip-toed over to the windowpane.

Just as he got there, the glass shattered inward. He ducked, but some shards still attached themselves into his skin. He flinched from the pain, but it was forgotten when he saw who emerged through the window, grunting and cursing to himself. "Chucky!" he cried happily, running to hug him.

The doll pushed him away. "Get off me, kid," he said, a bit roughly even for Chucky. Andy stepped back, surprised and a little hurt. "But Chucky, I was waiting for you! I didn't know where you went. Where did you go?" The doll scowled at him. "Nowhere that's your business," he said rudely. Andy shook his head, and tears were brimming his eyes. "But… why are you this way all of a sudden, Chucky? I thought we were friends." Chucky looked at him dead in the eyes. "There's something I have to tell you, kid," he said. His blue eyes looked like ice, they were so dead and cold.

Ms. Kettlewell walked back in just then. She dropped her folder when she saw the doll standing straight up. "Shit," Chucky muttered. He turned back to Andy. "It's you, kid, it's you," he said to him. "I was so good at this until I ran into you. You make me nervous. I can never think _straight _when I'm around you. And frankly, I don't like that. I like things normal." He looked back at Ms. Kettlewell, who was starting to laugh now and babble mindlessly, "No, no way… well now we know who pushed Brett down, huh Andy? I knew your weren't crazy, Andy, I knew it…" He scowled. "And she, she needs to die. She can't get out of here alive now that she knows." Ms. Kettlewell didn't hesitate; she rushed to Andy's side. "Go ahead," she said, somehow having regained her senses. "Come do something. Let's see what you've got." Her nearly insane behavior had instantly changed to anger and defense. The ultimate teacher.

Chucky laughed. "I don't have to do anything," he chuckled. His finger pointed upwards. The teacher and her student looked up and saw elaborate strings and objects they hadn't noticed before. "When… what did you…?" Ms. Kettlewell began. Chucky growled at her only curious expression. She seemed to have no fear. "Don't worry, teacher, Andy will survive, but you? You will not. And guess who will be left to blame for your murder, with no one to try to say otherwise?" Now her face fell. "No," she said softly. "You wouldn't." She held Andy close. "Not to him." Andy stood, frozen and unblinking. "Chucky…" he said. The doll couldn't tell what his emotions were, the boy was just so… still. In shock, he supposed.

"Oh yea," he said as he reached for an end of a rope that was tied to Andy's desk. "What I was going to tell you? I'm a serial killer. People know me as Charles Lee Ray. And you know something else, kid?" he said, stepping close to Andy, who only looked at him with wide, vacant eyes. Those warm, brown eyes. He pushed his scowl deeper to push any of those thoughts away. He came up to his ear so he could whisper. "I killed your father." Now there was a reaction. Andy gasped. "That's right, kid. Momma lied to you. Just like I did. I ain't your friend, and I never will be." He took out some small kid's scissors from his pocket. "Who knew child's things could be so…" he snipped the rope. "…dangerous?"

Chaos followed. Andy screamed, Ms. Kettlewell hung, and blood found a way to spray all over the room. The doll looked up at her hanging body. "I hope that ass detective Norris finds you," he said. "This oughta be a good memory jerker." He tied a bell to her foot. "Here comes the bride," he began softly. Then he laughed again, a maniacal howl. He jumped back to the window. "See ya around, kid," he said to the horrified Andy. "Or maybe not. I don't usually see anyone again." He laughed once more as he hopped out the window.

Andy turned back to his teacher. "Ms. Kettlewell!" he screamed again. He started to cry. He ran to the door, but it was an old, rusty thing, and he couldn't open with his hands that had been splattered with blood. "Somebody, help me!" he cried at the door. "My teacher is hurting! Someone open the door!" He was banging at the wood hard; his fists hurt and burned like fire. "Open the door! Open it! Please!" He cried harder, but when still no one came, he slid against it and held his knees against him. "Why would you do that?" he shouted angrily at the window. "Why why why?" Then he curled up into a ball on the floor, sobs racking his body.

***  
><em><br>This, I'm afraid, is good-bye, Andy. I'm almost sorry it has to be this way. But not quite. Finally, at last, I get to be the one who is doing the hurting and betraying. It feels too good to stop._

***

Kyle knew something was wrong when she came back from school. "Mrs. Jo?" she called to her foster mother. "I'm home!" Usually she would hear the sound of the young woman cooking in the small kitchen, or sewing in the bedroom, but today, she heard neither. "Ms. Jo?" she said again, quieter this time. She told herself that she was being silly, that she was overreacting. But when she got closer to the master bedroom and heard the sound of the sewing machine and not Mrs. Simpson's humming, her heart dropped. She could feel the pounding in her stomach. "Mother?" she asked cautiously as she opened the door. She stepped into the room. What she saw made her gasp in terror, and it took all that she had to not scream. She ran to the phone to call for the police. The sewing machine continued to whir.

It continued to sew Mrs. Simpson.

She called Mrs. Barclay afterwards. The young blonde woman came to the girl's apartment and held her as she cried. "I'm so sorry, dear," she murmured softly. "I'm so sorry. Don't worry, I understand." She was waiting for Detective Norris to come. He would fix things, she supposed. Better than she could, anyways. She took the phone from Kyle's clenched hand and began to dial Maggie's number. She ought to know. Maggie would know what to do. She always did. As she dialed, she pulled Kyle up with her. "Let's go sit on the couch, okay?" she suggested. Kyle sniffed and nodded, but continued sobbing from shock. She waited as patiently as she could for the sound of Maggie's voice. "Karen?" Calmly the blonde explained what had happened. There was silence on the other end for a very long time. "It was that doll, wasn't it?" Maggie said with a muffled voice. "How... how did you know that?" Karen asked. "Karen, I'm so sorry... I should've told you... this is all my fault..." Maggie began, and her friend listened to every word.

***

_I will sit where he can see me. This is going so well. No one will know who else to blame. There is some good in being a doll, after all. And I get to see that jack-ass Norris' face. This is going to priceless…  
><em> 

Things were a blur for Andy after that. He heard screaming from adults. He heard the sirens outside the school. He wondered if his friends would find out. They probably would. Everyone would probably know, because it would be on the news. But nobody would know who did it. He, Andy, would have to take the blame. Because nothing else would make sense. The police were arguing with that Norris man as they walked in the classroom. "There is no possible way a toy could do this," the officer was saying. "And there is no way a child could, either!" Mike was protesting. He saw the boy looking at him, frozen. He knew Andy was in shock. He was in shock himself. It was watching Madeline all over again, except now, someone innocent was being blamed. Karen Barclay's son. He knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Andy," he said as comfortingly as he could, although honestly he had no idea what was going to happen to the boy. He had no evidence, and so conveniently, Ray had disappeared.

So he thought. The officer was nice enough to Andy, talking to him and trying to sort out the truth as they walked outside the school. Mike followed behind them, defeated. At the best, they would only find Andy mentally disturbed and send him to a psych ward. At at the worst… he didn't even want to think about it. He lifted his eyes to see Mrs. Barclay with Kyle and Maggie running towards them. "No, not my baby!" Karen was screaming to the police. She reached her son with outstretched arms and held him tight. "Ma'am, we need you to calm down. Miss, there's nothing we can do. Don't worry, we'll figure this out." The officer's words did not do anything near calm Karen down. In fact, they made her more frantic. "It was that doll, I swear!" she said, trying to pull Andy away from the deputy who had taken hold of him. "That stupid doll! It was not my son, not my Andy!" she was crying. "You can't take away my baby! Not him too!"

It was when Mike followed the boy's calm eyes that he saw him. The doll. It-he- was sitting there, with that doll-like smile on its face. Was it just him, or did that doll seem to be smiling larger than usual? And was it looking at him? It seemed so; it seemed as if the doll was taunting him, saying, "You can never catch me." Andy whispered something to the deputy, who nodded and let him go. Mike watched as Andy slowly made his way toward it. He leaned over and whispered something to it. Then he walked back to the deputy, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast. Now there were tears there. The shock had worn off, and reality had set in. The deputy helped him into the back of the vehicle. Karen was screaming about the doll still. He was hearing whispers about how he and Karen were tipping dangerously into insanity, and probably dragging the boy in it as well.

He looked back and saw that the doll was gone.

***

_God damn it! Why, Andy? How did you manage to ruin it for me somehow still? You could have hit me, punched me, told me you hated me, and I could've moved on. But no. You didn't even touch me. You just looked at me with those eyes, those damn eyes, and told me the worst four words I could have ever heard._

_Don't you have any idea what I've done? I've broken a promise to you, two times over. If you only knew about when I first met you._

_You were so much younger then. Maybe two. I can't remember how old I was. I don't even know how old I am now. I remember that I was trying to hide from the crowd, the people of the city because they gawked at me. Somehow, though, you found me. You in that ridiculous doctor costume you still have. Somehow, you knew I was sick, in more ways than one. I remember the way your small hands clumsily held the stethoscope to my heart. You made the heartbeat sounds yourself. I think I was crying, because you told me in that little child's voice, "It's gonna be okay, misser! I make you all better?"_

_I promised you that day that if I ever met you again, I would repay you for being that one kind soul. And this is how I repaid you. Not only by killing you father, but by betraying you. I swear, if I had known that was your dad, I would've let him live, I swear it!_

_And yet you said what you did._

_"I still love you."_


	12. Inspiration's Conception

_It's not like I really care. Because I don't. It wasn't meant to be personal. I'm going to find John. His house is past that stupid little black girl's place. I can hear her singing through the window. I don't know who the real singer is, but the words- unfortunately- I can hear.  
>Something like:<em>

_"How did I get here with you I'll never know.  
>I never meant to let it get so personal.<br>And after all I tried to do,  
>Staying away from loving you,<br>I'm broken hearted I can't let you know,  
>And I won't let it show,<br>You won't see me cry..."_

_She's good, I guess...But I hate this song..._

***

John Simonsen was reclining on his old chair. For some reason, as he rocked back and forth, he was thinking of a time when he had rocked like this. It was a cold, winter night when he had heard the sound from his basement. He thought it had been a raccoon, or an opossum. He had gotten his gun from the utility closet and snuck to the door, just in case it was neither.

It had been neither, but it was not a threat at all. It was a young boy, frozen nearly stiff and eyes the color of the blue icicles that hung from the roof. John would have thought they were ice, except that there was so much emotion in them. Sadness and loss. "Come on in, son," he said gently, trying not to frighten him. "I ain't gonna hurt you." He had held out his hand for him, the poor child.

His name was Charles. That was all he would tell. He kept quiet most of the time, save when he asked what he could do. Sometimes he would ask if John would ever give him away, and the young black man would shake his head in amazement. "No, son. Why would I do that?" he'd ask, and Charles would shrug and reply, "Dunno."

That was only the beginning of his concerns for the boy with the striking blue eyes. John Simonsen had a little hobby of doing small magic tricks. He only did them to entertain the neighborhood children, but Charles took a major interest in it. He would be found reading book after book of spells and enchantments, and even worse, voodoo. John warned him against it. "You don't wanna be getting into that kinda trouble, son," he would say. But it didn't matter. Charles had found an obsession, and healthy or not, he wasn't letting it go.

One day, John came home from work to find the house empty. Charles was gone, but on the news that night, there was a mysterious report about an unidentified murderer who had struck in the town nearby. John tried to refuse to believe it, but in his mind, he had a sickening idea of who it was.

***

_ It's been a while since I've been here. I was so young then. But I wasn't so stupid anymore. I was beginning to find my own way._

_Shit, I'm coughing again. This wasn't supposed to happen. John will know why I am like this. John will have the answers, and he will have to give them to me. My magic is much, much stronger than his now._

_No card tricks here. Just dolls and lots of pain…_

__I***

It was like the past coming back again. John had to blink and look long and hard at the boy in front of him before he would believe his eyes. "Charles?" he asked incredulously. The same blue eyes, only now, they were so cold and empty. Dead. "Yes, it's me," he sneered. The voice had changed too, no longer so meek or shy. John rubbed his eyes. "But how… why are you still so young?" It seemed the boy hadn't changed height at all; in fact, he looked a little smaller since he last saw him. "Don't you get it?" Charles asked. "I'm not in my body anymore. I've transferred my soul to this doll's body." He pulled at the overall strap. John shook his head with wide eyes. "Oh, no, Charles," he said slowly. "That's not good at all. I've told you that. I have." Charles shouted and stomped his foot. "That's not what I came here for, you dipshit. I need to know something. I put myself in a doll's body. I was made of plastic, and I couldn't sweat or bleed. I didn't have a heartbeat either. Now," he pulled up his pant leg so that John could see the blood, "look. I'm bleeding. And as I ran here, I've been sweating." He pointed at his cheeks. John didn't say anything. The glistening on the boy-doll's?- face gave clues to otherwise.

"What have you gotten into, Charles?" he asked gently. That wasn't sweat, he knew, and he was sure Charles knew it too. "What's happened to you since you left?" Charles scowled at him. "Don't make this about me," he snarled. "This is about _you_ answering _my_ question. Why am I starting to function like a human being?" John sighed. "Because you are becoming human. Nothing lasts forever, Charles. Stay in that form long enough, and you will become human. A real boy. Kind of like Pinocchio." Charles looked confused; had he never heard that story before? He had never stayed long enough to hear it, John supposed. He hadn't stayed long enough for much at all. 

"So? Isn't there a way I can stop it?" he asked. "I don't want to be stuck in this." John looked at him and understood. Of course. Why would someone want to be constantly reminded of the past? Being in that doll form only reminded him of before, of long ago. But John knew he couldn't just tell Charles how to move around and manipulate others. It was wrong. "Tell me!" Charles yelled. He reached behind his back and pulled out a roughly made doll. "Or else." John gasped. "Is that?" he began. Charles nodded and smiled sadistically. "Oh yes. It is. So, I suggest you start talking." He grabbed a large pin from his front pocket and stuck it into the leg of the doll. "Or you'll be dying a slow, painful death."

John clutched his leg in pain. He fell to his knees as Charles stuck in another sharp pin in his other knee. "I will not tell you Charles. But it is for your own good." He looked at the boy with the blue eyes. He looked long and hard into his face with his calm brown ones. "I will not let you do this because I love you." Charles looked as if he had been hit in the chest by a freight train. He dropped the doll to the floor. "You," he growled. "You are going to die. I will find a way, even without your help." He stuck the last pin and ran out of the house, leaving John holding his hand to his bleeding chest.

***

_I cannot believe this. It's as if he knew about Andy and I. As if he knew._

_I couldn't kill him. He doesn't deserve to die by my hands. If he dies, it's of his own accord. I missed his heart when I pricked that doll one last time._

_It's is as if he knew everything…_

__***

Maggie Peterson was left walking the town in shock. Karen was gone. Andy was gone. Mike was gone. They were all gone. Even the doll had disappeared without a trace. It was as if all this had been a dream; a long, realistic dream. She should have been gone with them. She told herself that she should be in the crazy bin along with Mike and Karen. She was so deep in these thoughts that a passing car nearly hit her as she carelessly crossed the road. She jumped back, startled and little woken up from her lucid state.

It was because of Mike she was still here. He told her to keep her mouth shut, stay out. He said he would take care of Karen for her. He said she needed to find Charles. "Don't let him get away. Think of what he's done to your friends." Maggie thought more of what that asshole did to Andy. Andy loved that doll. She had thought maybe the doll had loved him back. She supposed she was wrong. She kicked a rolling can and sighed. "What am I going to do when I find him?" she asked to no one in particular. Only the chilling autumn wind replied, blowing leaves everywhere. She didn't know what she was going to do when she found him.

She was still walking in deep thought when she heard a sound. She looked around her, startled because she was nowhere near her apartment. She was mildly alarmed, but the muffled groan caught her attention. It was coming from inside an old house. This was a poor area; it was the city's ghetto, she assumed. The groan came again; it sounded as if the person was struggling for his life. Something clicked in her mind. If someone was near death, perhaps someone had caused those injuries. Someone small with blue eyes and a lying doll face…

She snuck around the corner of the house to the door. It was an old broken screen door, still swaying with the wind. She took a small step in. The sound of pain continued. "Hello?" she called out softly. "Are you alright?" There was a dead silence for a moment. Then, "Hello? Who is that?" Maggie walked toward the sound, passing the small kitchen to her left. "Where are you?" she asked. "Here. In the living room. On your right," a weak voice croaked. Maggie stepped further into the house and walked through the opening into the living room, where there were several old reclining chairs and some side tables. She heard labored breathing from behind the couch, and as she walked around it, she finally saw him. A black man was curled on the floor, keeping a tight hold on a fatal wound near his heart. She reached in her purse quickly. "I'll dial 911." The man nodded and continued to press his hands against him.

"Mr.," she began. "Was it… who was it?" The man gave a grimace. "It's John Simonsen, Ma'am," he replied. "As for who did this, well…" He gave a glance away from him, and Maggie followed his eyes to see the doll with pins stuck in it. She gasped. "Let's just say, you wouldn't believe me." Maggie shook her head. "Oh, I would," she said softly. "Believe me, I would."

***

Dep. Roger Kellen felt horrible. He had a gnawing suspicion as he drove the quiet boy in the back of the police car that they had gotten the wrong man. But what could they do? He watched the boy in the rear view mirror. The boy was hugging his knees; he looked upset, but he wasn't letting up a big fuss. He was crying silent tears. He was holding some rag doll that had been back there for a long time, but Kellen watched as the boy's face became almost a little angry and he tossed the doll to the floor and turned his face to the window.

***

The Wal-Mart seemed cheery, and Maggie needed that. The ambulance had come and taken Mr. Simonsen away, and she was left, once again, on her lonesome. It was so strange that right now, people didn't know. She knew they would all know when it came out on the news tonight.

She barely noticed the bump against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Miss." She looked up to see an elderly man with a kind face. "You're fine," she said distractedly. She could feel him looking at her with concern. "You weren't part of that doll scandal, were you?" he asked slowly. Maggie felt tears burn her eyelids. She nodded; perhaps this wasn't something you talk to total stranger about, but right now, she needed someone to talk to. "It's so terrible," the man said with genuine sadness. "To think that a toy meant for such good would have an end like this." Maggie sniffed. "What do you mean?" she asked. The way he said it, it was as if he knew the doll. It made her curious. "Well, I designed those Good Guys dolls," he began. "I was inspired by a little boy and his mother to make a good toy for children."

Maggie felt an urge rising within her. "Really?" she asked, taking out a small notepad and pen she had been keeping in her purse for some time now. "Tell me more." As the man began to talk, Maggie began to write…


	13. Intermission Introduction

_Victor Brown was on the verge of being let go. "Come back and make a toy that will sell," his boss was saying. Victor nodded and left the room with a heavy heart._

_The thing was, it was hard to make toys in this sort of world. The company was slowly turning into some strange auto-mechanic factory. Toys weren't the innocent toys anymore. It was all killing games and things that made children behave so violently. He didn't just want to make some toy that was another action figure or some loud contraption that taught kids bad manners. He wanted to make something meaningful. But he had to find something, or he would lose his job._

_Sighing, he walked through the outdoor market. The place was crowded and busy, and all he heard were the sounds of what he feared: whining spoiled children. It was Mommy give me this, Mommy give me that. Why couldn't he ever hear…_

_"Like this one, Momma?" A quiet voice. Victor looked up to see what he had been looking for. A kind child helping his mother. The woman was holding a baby girl in her arms, and it would have been harder for her to get her shopping done in this crowded place, except for that her son was helping her. He would hand her things when she needed them, and, poor as they were, he looked happier and sweeter than all the other children around them. He was inspired._

_"Can I sketch you three?" he asked politely. The woman looked confused, and the boy stared with large blue eyes. Victor ran his fingers through his hair, a little nervous because he didn't want them to think that he was an old creep. "It's just… I haven't seen a kind loving family like this in a while, and you are like a breath of fresh air to an old man. Do you mind?" Now the woman smiled; Victor noticed that her eyes seemed sad. Like she had been through hard times._

_It only took a moment. He had the sketch done. He knew what sort of toy he was going to make. "I'm Victor Brown," he said, holding out his hand for her. She took it. "I'm Elizabeth. Elizabeth Ray. This is my daughter, Lisé, and this," she ruffled her son's tangled hair, "is Charles." The man smiled. "Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. Charles." The boy continued to just watch him quietly, with those large, blue eyes, freckles, and overalls too big for him. "Thank you," he said to the woman. "Thank you all, for being so full of light in a world like this."_

_The boy was Charles Lee Ray. At last, the truth will be known. Continue reading this if you would like to know how he progressed from this small child to the feared "Lakeshore Strangler" we know of today. If not, go ahead and put this book aside and never pick it up again. But curiosity strikes, does it not? After all, no one has known anything about him for so long; wouldn't we all like to know a bit of his secrets, since he has so brutally invaded our lives?  
><em>

_If you are still reading, I will continue. Here begins the truth._

_-Maggie Peterson_


	14. Intermission Beginning

_It's not like I really care. Because I don't. It wasn't meant to be personal. I'm going to find John. His house is past that stupid little black girl's place. I can hear her singing through the window. I don't know who the real singer is, but the words- unfortunately- I can hear.  
>Something like:<em>

_"How did I get here with you I'll never know.  
>I never meant to let it get so personal.<br>And after all I tried to do,  
>Staying away from loving you,<br>I'm broken hearted I can't let you know,  
>And I won't let it show,<br>You won't see me cry..."_

_She's good, I guess...But I hate this song..._

***

John Simonsen was reclining on his old chair. For some reason, as he rocked back and forth, he was thinking of a time when he had rocked like this. It was a cold, winter night when he had heard the sound from his basement. He thought it had been a raccoon, or an opossum. He had gotten his gun from the utility closet and snuck to the door, just in case it was neither.

It had been neither, but it was not a threat at all. It was a young boy, frozen nearly stiff and eyes the color of the blue icicles that hung from the roof. John would have thought they were ice, except that there was so much emotion in them. Sadness and loss. "Come on in, son," he said gently, trying not to frighten him. "I ain't gonna hurt you." He had held out his hand for him, the poor child.

His name was Charles. That was all he would tell. He kept quiet most of the time, save when he asked what he could do. Sometimes he would ask if John would ever give him away, and the young black man would shake his head in amazement. "No, son. Why would I do that?" he'd ask, and Charles would shrug and reply, "Dunno."

That was only the beginning of his concerns for the boy with the striking blue eyes. John Simonsen had a little hobby of doing small magic tricks. He only did them to entertain the neighborhood children, but Charles took a major interest in it. He would be found reading book after book of spells and enchantments, and even worse, voodoo. John warned him against it. "You don't wanna be getting into that kinda trouble, son," he would say. But it didn't matter. Charles had found an obsession, and healthy or not, he wasn't letting it go.

One day, John came home from work to find the house empty. Charles was gone, but on the news that night, there was a mysterious report about an unidentified murderer who had struck in the town nearby. John tried to refuse to believe it, but in his mind, he had a sickening idea of who it was.

***

_ It's been a while since I've been here. I was so young then. But I wasn't so stupid anymore. I was beginning to find my own way._

_Shit, I'm coughing again. This wasn't supposed to happen. John will know why I am like this. John will have the answers, and he will have to give them to me. My magic is much, much stronger than his now._

_No card tricks here. Just dolls and lots of pain…_

__I***

It was like the past coming back again. John had to blink and look long and hard at the boy in front of him before he would believe his eyes. "Charles?" he asked incredulously. The same blue eyes, only now, they were so cold and empty. Dead. "Yes, it's me," he sneered. The voice had changed too, no longer so meek or shy. John rubbed his eyes. "But how… why are you still so young?" It seemed the boy hadn't changed height at all; in fact, he looked a little smaller since he last saw him. "Don't you get it?" Charles asked. "I'm not in my body anymore. I've transferred my soul to this doll's body." He pulled at the overall strap. John shook his head with wide eyes. "Oh, no, Charles," he said slowly. "That's not good at all. I've told you that. I have." Charles shouted and stomped his foot. "That's not what I came here for, you dipshit. I need to know something. I put myself in a doll's body. I was made of plastic, and I couldn't sweat or bleed. I didn't have a heartbeat either. Now," he pulled up his pant leg so that John could see the blood, "look. I'm bleeding. And as I ran here, I've been sweating." He pointed at his cheeks. John didn't say anything. The glistening on the boy-doll's?- face gave clues to otherwise.

"What have you gotten into, Charles?" he asked gently. That wasn't sweat, he knew, and he was sure Charles knew it too. "What's happened to you since you left?" Charles scowled at him. "Don't make this about me," he snarled. "This is about _you_ answering _my_ question. Why am I starting to function like a human being?" John sighed. "Because you are becoming human. Nothing lasts forever, Charles. Stay in that form long enough, and you will become human. A real boy. Kind of like Pinocchio." Charles looked confused; had he never heard that story before? He had never stayed long enough to hear it, John supposed. He hadn't stayed long enough for much at all. 

"So? Isn't there a way I can stop it?" he asked. "I don't want to be stuck in this." John looked at him and understood. Of course. Why would someone want to be constantly reminded of the past? Being in that doll form only reminded him of before, of long ago. But John knew he couldn't just tell Charles how to move around and manipulate others. It was wrong. "Tell me!" Charles yelled. He reached behind his back and pulled out a roughly made doll. "Or else." John gasped. "Is that?" he began. Charles nodded and smiled sadistically. "Oh yes. It is. So, I suggest you start talking." He grabbed a large pin from his front pocket and stuck it into the leg of the doll. "Or you'll be dying a slow, painful death."

John clutched his leg in pain. He fell to his knees as Charles stuck in another sharp pin in his other knee. "I will not tell you Charles. But it is for your own good." He looked at the boy with the blue eyes. He looked long and hard into his face with his calm brown ones. "I will not let you do this because I love you." Charles looked as if he had been hit in the chest by a freight train. He dropped the doll to the floor. "You," he growled. "You are going to die. I will find a way, even without your help." He stuck the last pin and ran out of the house, leaving John holding his hand to his bleeding chest.

***

_I cannot believe this. It's as if he knew about Andy and I. As if he knew._

_I couldn't kill him. He doesn't deserve to die by my hands. If he dies, it's of his own accord. I missed his heart when I pricked that doll one last time._

_It's is as if he knew everything…_

__***

Maggie Peterson was left walking the town in shock. Karen was gone. Andy was gone. Mike was gone. They were all gone. Even the doll had disappeared without a trace. It was as if all this had been a dream; a long, realistic dream. She should have been gone with them. She told herself that she should be in the crazy bin along with Mike and Karen. She was so deep in these thoughts that a passing car nearly hit her as she carelessly crossed the road. She jumped back, startled and little woken up from her lucid state.

It was because of Mike she was still here. He told her to keep her mouth shut, stay out. He said he would take care of Karen for her. He said she needed to find Charles. "Don't let him get away. Think of what he's done to your friends." Maggie thought more of what that asshole did to Andy. Andy loved that doll. She had thought maybe the doll had loved him back. She supposed she was wrong. She kicked a rolling can and sighed. "What am I going to do when I find him?" she asked to no one in particular. Only the chilling autumn wind replied, blowing leaves everywhere. She didn't know what she was going to do when she found him.

She was still walking in deep thought when she heard a sound. She looked around her, startled because she was nowhere near her apartment. She was mildly alarmed, but the muffled groan caught her attention. It was coming from inside an old house. This was a poor area; it was the city's ghetto, she assumed. The groan came again; it sounded as if the person was struggling for his life. Something clicked in her mind. If someone was near death, perhaps someone had caused those injuries. Someone small with blue eyes and a lying doll face…

She snuck around the corner of the house to the door. It was an old broken screen door, still swaying with the wind. She took a small step in. The sound of pain continued. "Hello?" she called out softly. "Are you alright?" There was a dead silence for a moment. Then, "Hello? Who is that?" Maggie walked toward the sound, passing the small kitchen to her left. "Where are you?" she asked. "Here. In the living room. On your right," a weak voice croaked. Maggie stepped further into the house and walked through the opening into the living room, where there were several old reclining chairs and some side tables. She heard labored breathing from behind the couch, and as she walked around it, she finally saw him. A black man was curled on the floor, keeping a tight hold on a fatal wound near his heart. She reached in her purse quickly. "I'll dial 911." The man nodded and continued to press his hands against him.

"Mr.," she began. "Was it… who was it?" The man gave a grimace. "It's John Simonsen, Ma'am," he replied. "As for who did this, well…" He gave a glance away from him, and Maggie followed his eyes to see the doll with pins stuck in it. She gasped. "Let's just say, you wouldn't believe me." Maggie shook her head. "Oh, I would," she said softly. "Believe me, I would."

***

Dep. Roger Kellen felt horrible. He had a gnawing suspicion as he drove the quiet boy in the back of the police car that they had gotten the wrong man. But what could they do? He watched the boy in the rear view mirror. The boy was hugging his knees; he looked upset, but he wasn't letting up a big fuss. He was crying silent tears. He was holding some rag doll that had been back there for a long time, but Kellen watched as the boy's face became almost a little angry and he tossed the doll to the floor and turned his face to the window.

***

The Wal-Mart seemed cheery, and Maggie needed that. The ambulance had come and taken Mr. Simonsen away, and she was left, once again, on her lonesome. It was so strange that right now, people didn't know. She knew they would all know when it came out on the news tonight.

She barely noticed the bump against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Miss." She looked up to see an elderly man with a kind face. "You're fine," she said distractedly. She could feel him looking at her with concern. "You weren't part of that doll scandal, were you?" he asked slowly. Maggie felt tears burn her eyelids. She nodded; perhaps this wasn't something you talk to total stranger about, but right now, she needed someone to talk to. "It's so terrible," the man said with genuine sadness. "To think that a toy meant for such good would have an end like this." Maggie sniffed. "What do you mean?" she asked. The way he said it, it was as if he knew the doll. It made her curious. "Well, I designed those Good Guys dolls," he began. "I was inspired by a little boy and his mother to make a good toy for children."

Maggie felt an urge rising within her. "Really?" she asked, taking out a small notepad and pen she had been keeping in her purse for some time now. "Tell me more." As the man began to talk, Maggie began to write…


	15. Intermission Middle

_If you are still reading this, you are obviously still curious as to how this small child became a vicious monster. I shall continue. Charles ran far from home, sure that his mother did not want to see him again. He knew he had done wrong. But instead of owning up to it, he ran away, far away until he reached a small, dumpy city. There he begged on the streets, starving and with the cold nights endangering his health. He began to steal, and was thrown in jail several times, and, I'm afraid, he did drop the soap._

_He always found a way to escape, however, and every time, the police where left baffled. He seemed to be a child Houdini. No one in the city knew where he had come from. No one knew who he was. But no one seemed to care, either. He did them no harm, save his theft._

_Charles was hungry, however. Hungry for food, of course, but for love and protection as well. He was only a boy, remember, at most 10 years of age, and he still needed someone to help him along the way. Unfortunately, he ran into Eddie Caputo. The man needed money. Charles wanted a family. They met, and Eddie promised the boy the security of a home, so long as the boy helped him in his quest to strike gold. Charles became involved in dangerous trades, landing him back behind bars several times, with the old nightmares of abuse being re-lived again and again. However, he stayed, and proved a faithful alibi._

_Until Caputo got tired of him. There are many ways to make money. Child trafficking is one of them. And one day, that is exactly what the man did. He sold Charles off to a Johnathan Elbis for a certain amount of money. Like a toy._

_***_

_Johnny_

_Things people do for money. Things I did because I didn't think anything of it. That kid was something else. I still remember his eyes. I almost felt bad, taking him away from that Caputo guy, but business was business in my mind then. I ran a whore-house. I made money off of anyone that worked for me, and Charles was one of them._

_I don't know who Caputo was really. I knew he and the kid were involved in drug dealing, but I never turned them in. I mean, I was in it bad too. But I guess Charles just wasn't selling enough of that dope, because one night, Caputo called me up. Told me he had something I'd pay big for. So I came, checked it-him-out. Took him. He begged Caputo to keep him. Said he'd do better. Said the guy promised to take care of him. What was I to do? The kid thought that bum was really gonna watch out for him. Life just ain't that way. It never is._

_I felt bad for the kid. Really. He didn't seem to get how to survive. He thought that if he just asked nice enough, people would listen. All that gained him was more pain, and me more money. All the other prostitutes knew how it went. Either you liked it, and did your best, or you played off lame so no one would want you. He would ask me, when I would take him home. When he could go home. I would have to tell him, you're not going home kid. This is your home now. He would cry._

_Then, I don't know. One day he snapped. Guess he got tired of being tossed around like some plaything. I can't blame him. In fact, if life was fair, I would've died that day. I should be dead. It's what I deserve, not saving that kid. Should have taken him to foster home or something. Foster kids got it bad too, but he'd have a better chance there than where I brought him._

_Anyways, it all happened so fast. I was coming in, unlocking the door, when I saw it. It was a massacre. Like a meat factory, only worse. Do I have to describe it? The blood, the filth. Everywhere. And Charles walked out. Touched the dead faces almost tenderly. Like he'd just saved them. And he probably did. Then he frowned at me. "I'm going home now, Johnny," he said rather casually. "And you ain't gonna stop me this time." His small polite voice was gone. There was a roughness to it. Almost like he'd aged decades. Trauma does that to you, I guess. I thought I saw tears in his eyes, but I don't know. Then he kicked a stone. Some trap. He set it off on me. I remember being tossed across the room. I don't know what he did. He's an intelligent criminal mind._

_I was still alive, but only barely. He thought I was dead, I guess, because he walked away. Or maybe he wanted me to live. With this guilt. Maybe he knew. The first customer walked in. Cussed. Charles cussed him out back, and then I heard a thud. That guy was dead. Just like I should be. If I ever saw that kid again, I'd apologize. Not that it'd matter. He'd probably say, "You're sorry NOW, Johnny. You're sorry now."  
><em>

_Yes, Charles. I'm sorry now. Too late, huh?_

_***_

_It was nearing winter by then. Charles had not been caught. The police had found Johnny, and asked him about the blood bath. He told them the boy's name, but nothing else. He was arrested and put in jail for running the prostitute business. Due to the trauma and psychological effect it had on his mind, however, he was set free earlier. He has never done anything in that area since. He now leads anti-human trafficking movements, and people listen to him, because he's been there, done that. He's learned._

_Charles however, grew bitter, with ice on his heart like the ice hanging from the roof of John Simonsen's house. The man had lived alone for awhile now. He lived in the poorer area of the suburbs. Out in the projects, they'd call it. Gangs and hoodlum attacks all the time. He was used to it. He was not used to hearing sound under his porch at eleven o' clock in the evening, however. Charles had found his way to his house. He was still a lost child, but now, he had a purpose. Even if he was going the wrong way, he had made up his mind.  
><em>

_He was done with being used. Now he was going to use._

_***_

_John_

_It was late. I was getting comfy next to the little fireplace. I loved winter. It meant this snuggling with a good book, Christmastime, family. I don't have a family anymore, I lost mine long ago, but the neighbors here were kind. They took me in. They were my family. Even if some of them were a little naughty with the law. The poor kids. I'd take them all in if I could. I was just starting to get into my book when I heard it. I thought it was an animal at first, like an opossum or a raccoon. I'm glad I didn't shoot him. Even now, as I know what he is, and what he's done. I'm glad I didn't shoot him._

_Charles Lee Ray. Lord, he was such a sad thing. I don't know how I could've helped him. He was lost to the world, I think. Molded wrong. He was quiet, but real jumpy. I had to call his name real soft so he wouldn't turn on me. One time it was with a knife, inches from my face. He apologized, but I knew something was wrong. He never talked about it, but I heard him cry at night. Sometimes for his mother. I don't know how old he was. He sounded old, but he looked young, and sometimes, the other way around._

_He loved magic. Magic tricks were my thing. He saw me doing some card tricks one day with the kids. He was fascinated. I think it was the first time I ever saw him smile. He laughed. He wanted to know how I did it. He had a farm boy accent, I remember that because of the way he asked me, "Golly, how'd you do that, Mister John?" I don't think he says things like that anymore. I began to show him. I gave him books on it. He read them like crazy. That kid was so smart. He learned so fast. Soon he was teaching me. I would ask him, "Hey, Charles, how'd you do that?"_

_But one day, he asked me something strange. "Can magic do anything?" I didn't know what to say. "If you want it to, I guess," I remembered saying. He wanted to know. Good and bad things? I told him about voodoo. About possession, and how strange people did strange things. My worst mistake. "But we don't get into that stuff, Charles," I said. He didn't listen to that part. He was determined. He thought he could take over the world. I guess pay them back for what they did too him. I wish I'd known. I would've told him, revenge doesn't change. It makes things worse. I tried to push him against it, but there are public libraries. The internet. Television. He learned what he wanted, and when he did, he left without a trace. There was a news break about a group of kids, some of my gang-orphans, who were killed. The police couldn't make out how it happened. But there was writing on the wall. In blood. His name. I knew._

_The next time I saw him, he was different. But he looked disoriented. I don't know what it was, but through his mask of stone, I saw pain. Something had happened to him, but I didn't know what. It struck him hard when I told him I loved him. He spat I was the second dumb-a word to make that mistake, but I saw it hurt. He went through the old books in my shelf, as I lay there, after he had made me a voodoo victim, while I lay there, bleeding. He found out. He was taken back at what needed to be done. "I have to go BACK?" he asked aloud. "To get out of this plastic shell, I have to go back to him? No..." He looked near tears. "I can't go back. I can't go back to him." I don't know who he was talking about. I don't know where he is now. Wandering, I suppose. Lost.  
><em>

_Lost._


	16. Intermission End

_Only once after Charles first left John Simonsen's house did he land himself in jail, where he met Mrs. Katherine, an elderly lady with mental disorders who was accused of a murder. She had been there for several years when they first brought Charles in, after a long chase through the woods. She remembers him well._

_***_

_Katherine_

_I'm Katherine. I'm turning 50. Soon. I am. Oh, Charles? Yes, yes. I remember him. Yes. I'm 50 soon. Oh, right, Charles. Let's see. He was a mean little spirit, yes he was. When they first brought him in, he cussed them out and bit them. So violent for the child he was. Never obeyed the rules in the jail. Always fighting with the other inmates. Spitting and hissing like an animal. But sometimes, I'd see a speck of a child in him. I'll be 50. Did I mention my name is Katherine? Oh, right. I'm sorry, dear. Charles... I can't really describe him. A lost soul. He would cry a lot at night. For his mother. He was badly teased by the inmates. Do I have to say? Oh thank you. I hate remembering that. I couldn't do a thing, either. I was stuck in another cell next door, and my old lungs couldn't shout for help loud enough for anyone to hear, and the inmates would muffle him._

_I'm going to be... oh, dear, I already said that, didn't I? Oh. Charles. He broke out. Yes. I don't remember how. Not at all. But he did. And those men were dead, serves them right. Good for nothing bums. I'm turning 50. What? No. I never saw him again. Poor thing. I hope he finds some good doctor or something soon. Get a stethoscope on his heart. Or his mind. That poor child._

_Oh, did I mention? I'm Katherine. I'm turning 50._

_No one ever saw Charles again. He never stepped foot in anyone's house again. He was constantly on the run, always leaving bloody footprints behind. Leaving broken hearts behind, people crying for their loved ones. Many lost their loved ones. So many. No one ever caught him; it seemed he had become a phantom, a nightmare._

_Michael W. Norris was one of the many people who lost a loved one by Charles Lee Ray. He was about to be married. My own personal best friend, Karen Barclay, lost her husband as well, and it seems to wound her more because of just how close she could have been to Charles..._

_Mike_

_I still remember her. Madeline. She was a sweet thing, she was. Dark hair and eyes like autumn leaves. I met her in the autumn, you know. But I suppose it wasn't meant to be. On our wedding day, she wasn't there. Well, she was. But not in the way we had planned. She was hanging from the church canopy. Her last words to me were that she loved me._

_She tried to tell me something about Charles, but she never finished her sentence. I used to be a novelist, you see, but when she died, well... I became a detective. No one wanted to look for the Lakeshore Strangler anymore anyways. They just hoped he'd die soon. But I was determined. I searched for him, researched long into the night. Sometimes stayed up for nights in a row. I think I felt that if I could just ask him why, I could feel a little more complete. Like I could have a bit of Madeline back._

_But when I finally caught him, he was already dead. His body lay there, and I felt as if my world was gone. I would never find out what Madeline had tried to tell me. I could never have that one part of her last words. While everyone else would rejoice that Charles Lee Ray was finally in his grave, I would feel hopeless. In my eyes, I had failed Madeline. But then the doctors and police came. They began to make theories about him. About his life, his age. One of the doctors noticed his sickness. They reckoned he'd had it since birth. And as they began to diagnose his cold dead body, I noticed._

_He was small. I had always imagined a large, burly man-the novelist in me, I suppose- but instead what we got was this skeleton. He looked more like a tortured spirit than a killer. Like Emily Rose or something similar. And then I realized. This is what Madeline had been trying to tell me. This is what confused her. She couldn't understand how such a small human could be this vicious nightmare. I can't either. Trauma, perhaps._

_I've been through some trauma, myself. Please don't tell me that means I'll be Lakeshore Strangler number two..._

_Karen_

_I can't believe that my son is gone. My Andy. My precious Andy. If Elizabeth were alive, well, I don't know what she'd do. To know that her son killed his father's childhood friend. To know that her son and mine could have grown up together, as best friends. How life changes.  
><em>

_I remember first meeting her. Minna Elizabeth Ray. She was pregnant with Charles. My husband (well, back then he was my fiancé) Andrew was thrilled for me to meet her and Ronald. He told me how he and Ronald grew up in the same neighborhood together. Oh, the stories he had about Ronald. They were the school pranksters. My fondest memory is of the four of us eating dinner together, with Andrew and Ron re-telling the mischief they got into. We had laughed so much that night. It was that night that I had suggested she name her baby Charles. While the men got into a conversation of their own, Elizabeth and I were talking about the baby. She let me put my hand on her stomach, and I felt the life. His life. Kicking inside her. That was Charles Lee Ray._

_She loved the idea. "Charles," she had sighed. "One of those old romantic names. With those dashing dark haired-men and the blonde naive girls." We laughed. She was such a sweet girl. Ronald was an amazing man. Funny, too. He made us all laugh._

_But then the war called him away. Elizabeth had to move. I had held her close. By now, Charles was three, and she was pregnant with a baby girl. She had named her Karen Lisé. "After you," she said, hugging me. "So I can remember you." We were crying. I don't know how we had gotten so close. "If you need anything, write! Or call!" I had shouted as they drove away._

_There never was a call. No mail, either, save once. Elizabeth had sent me a card. A Christmas card, with the family picture inside. I still have it. I keep it with me, because she was such a dear friend. I look at it a lot, and think how much things have changed. So badly._

_I wonder if my husband remembered Charles. The night he killed him. Charles wouldn't remember Andrew, I'm sure. We had been downtown that day. Andy and Andrew and I. We had bought Andy a doctor suit. He so wanted to be like his father. He had just turned three, and so we were celebrating. I remember Andy had run off, and I couldn't find him. I was so worried. We had looked frantically for him. Finally, we saw him walking out of an old alleyway. I had hugged him and asked what he was doing, and in his three year old vocabulary, he told me he was taking care of a patient. Some imaginary friend, I suppose._

_To think, I had said that day to them, "I could never lose either of you." And then it was that night I lost Andrew. The cruel irony._

_I wish I had known of Charles whereabouts. I would have taken him in. It would be my duty, you know. To take care of him. After all, Elizabeth did designate me his godmother..._


	17. Intermission Conclusion

_So many regrets. We all seem to want to go back to the old days. Except Charles. For the rest of his life, until he was found dead in that toy store, he never went back. Never once wanted to turn around. I suppose he liked the thrill of being in power. To never fear being betrayed, or cast aside again. I guess he didn't realize he only began to become like those he despised most. To think, if he had only not killed Andrew Barclay that day, he could have gone home with him. Could have lived with his god-parents. Could have grown up with little Andy._

_Can you imagine? What life would have been like? If only. If only this, if only that. I wonder, what would happen if someone had taken that poor child on the streets in? If Karen had found Charles, would he have changed? He had already been a murderer by then. If he had found that love he had been searching for, would we still have our loved ones? Or would he have been skeptical and tossed it aside? Could Charles Lee Ray and Andy Barclay have been close friends, like their fathers?_

_I guess we'll never know, will we?_


	18. Ms Peterson's Curse

There was a small boy in the junkyard who seemed like a ghost. People didn't really talk about him, because they didn't know if he really existed. He would appear, and then be gone. Stories began to start. Halloween tales. Spooky ghost stories. About how the junkyard was haunted by a small boy whose soul was stuck on earth, until he could be reunited with the one name he'd call for and go home. Over and over again, the neighbors would say, he would call that name, and beg to be taken home. All into the night. A howling cry, so full of pain and fright that the people who lived in the neighborhood would stay up in horror and gnawing fear. 

They hoped he came soon. They hoped the ghost boy would find him. Maybe finally he could rest in peace, and then, so could they. They hoped the ghost boy found him soon.

They hoped the ghost boy would find Andy.

***

Kyle rubbed her eyes as her last patient crawled out the door. 26 years old, and she was already feeling like a 50 year old woman. She read the last few pages of Ms. Peterson's book, contemplating the last words. The book was considered radical. It made violent debates break out. Simply titled, "The Lakeshore Strangler", it had set people thinking. Some people thought it so sad, and pitied the killer. Others said it was a pity-story put together, and that it was injustice to those who had lost their loved ones. Kyle didn't see it as either. She saw it as a psychological link, a way to let the world know, this is why. It was almost comforting. At least now it wasn't that Ray killed for no reason. That he was born a monster.

She had lost loved ones too. The Simpsons had been kind to her. They could have been her family. Ah, well. She sighed. Perhaps it was for the best. Now she was a social worker, a psychiatrist. Her patients shared their stories, and she shared hers. She and her patients had a particularly special bond because they couldn't tell her she didn't know about life. She had yet to see someone whose life had been worse. But she would encourage them, tell them she understood, and they would know she did, because she had been there. Perhaps she should thank Charles Lee Ray.

Laughing at that irony, she flipped through the newspaper. Mrs. Barclay and Mr. Norris were being let out of the mental institution. Apparently their time in had drawn them close, because the article also said they were planning their wedding. Ms. Peterson was there. Mrs. Barclay. Ms. Peterson. Mr. Norris. She remembered them well. She had babysat their son, Andy. She had been so rude to him. She remembered regretting it, and going to apologize.

She remembered other things, but she dared not tell anyone, or they would send _her_ to the nuthouse. The doll. That thing moved. And talked. It was telling him something about his past. Sounded a lot like this book she had just read. But it was impossible, right? Charles couldn't be that doll, because he had died. Right?

Then she read the article about the ghost boy.

***

_If you hurt him, if you break his heart, I swear, I will hunt you down. And if I don't, his voice will haunt you, and you will never be able to forget him._

_That is not a threat._

_That is a promise..._

__***

Krista was excited to see the letter from her old friend. They had been writing back and forth now. "Oh, Quanisha," she sighed happily. "To see you_ did_ actually grow up to be a pop-star." She kept reading. The letter stated that Quanisha was coming to see her, and perform a concert at the military academy. She smiled.

"Private De Silva!" A bark. Krista rolled her eyes. "What are you smiling at?" She turned to see the old childhood bully. Brett C. Shelton. "My friend wrote me a letter. We're on break right now, sir," she said with slight sarcasm. Of all people, she thought, why did Shelton have to be captain? She was much better than him. "Who from?" he asked.

She walked away, ignoring his orders. He wasn't really in charge. He just wished he was.

She came into the small building where they all stayed. Her friend, Ellen was painting her toenails. She honestly didn't know what the girl did to get landed here. "Hey, Ellen," she said, tapping her nose with the letter. "I'm gonna go see Andy. Wanna come?" The girl looked up and tossed her bright red hair. "Oh, yes." she said with a grin. Krista giggled. Some things don't change, Krista thought. Andy Barclay was still that quiet boy that all the girls secretly talked about when he wasn't around.

She remembered when she first saw him again. They had embraced. He didn't know he'd ever see anyone he knew again He wasn't there by choice. Apparently, he'd gotten in some trouble. She didn't know what it could be. Andy was such a good kid. And even now, the leaders of the academy noticed him. How well he worked. He still wanted to be a doctor. "Can't I be a doctor in the military?" he'd ask.

Man, Quanisha would have to see him. She would agree he had gotten F-I-N-E.

'Nisha was surrounded by her gang. "So, 'Nisha girl, how'd the interview go?" Lanika was asking. "Good, but you know, girl, they kept asking me the strangest things. Like, why some of my songs are so sad. I was all like, 'Cuz, hon, life_ is_ sad.'" They shared a laugh, her and Lanika with the bright eyes and the rest of the group. "But hey, I got exciting news!" 'Nisha said. "You know that Kentwood Military Academy?" Lanika frowned. "No, never heard of it." Lil' Shawn, who was laid back against the wall of graffiti, straightened up. "You mean that one over by that old farmhouse?" 'Nisha nodded. "Mmhmm. That one. My old friend, Krista- remember how I talked about her?- she goes there."

"She get in some trouble?" Lil' Shawn asked. "Naw, stupid. She wants to be in the army," 'Nisha laughed, slapping the young man playfully. "She done always been that way. I remember in elementary school, we was always playin' like we was in the army..." She was looking off, remembering. There was something else she was missing. She couldn't remember what though.

They heard a sound. A shuffling. "What the hell was that?" Lanika asked suddenly. "Ooh, it's ghosts, Lanika," Lil' Shawn teased. She smacked him. "Shut up, ho, I know it ain't a ghost, I'm just sayin'. What if it's an animal? Like a snake?" Lil' Shawn shrugged. "Well, they did say it was haunted. I heard in the news, people be hearin' things. Like a ghost kid, or some crazy-ass shit like that." 'Nisha shook her head. "Whatever. I ain't heard nothing." She looked towards the junkyard and felt a creeping chill, but said nothing. She just walked towards it. "Wait!'Nisha, where are you going?" Lanika called. "You can't die before your concert tonight!"

The head popped out before 'Nisha could respond. The group all jumped.

It was a small, ginger-haired boy. Blue eyes. A face that looked like he had been crying for months. When they jumped back and screamed, his lips quivered, and he shrank against the wall, small animal-like whimpers escaping from his lips. "Shh… shh… hush you guys," Lanika said. She looked at him. "I think we've scared him." 'Nisha calmed herself and began to walk towards him slowly. "Hey there, honey," she said softer. "Sorry about that. You gave us a little jump, that's all." The others nodded. "I'm 'Nisha." She knelt to his height. "Where's your Momma, honey?" He sniffed. "Andy," he said softly. His voice was so hoarse, it sounded like it had been scraped from the inside out.

"'Nisha, he's that ghost," Lil' Shawn whispered. "Step away…" 'Nisha gave him a frown. "Where is he?" she asked the boy. His face crumpled. "I don't know," he whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "He's coming to take me home, someday…" The group of young adults looked at each other. The boy was obviously lost. He started coughing. And sick. "Okay," 'Nisha began. She looked back at her friends for help. "Why don't you come with us?" Lanika asked slowly. "We can help you find him. Right?" 

Lil' Shawn shrugged; 'Nisha just touched the boy's arm. He jumped. "It's okay, honey, we won't hurt you," she said softly. She held out her hand, and the boy took it carefully. He was still murmuring something about Andy. His fingers were cold. He looked almost too perfect, besides the fact he was thin and dirty. He looked as if he were a doll. "What's your name?" 'Nisha asked, simply curious as to who this mysterious "ghost-boy" was. Something about him was so familiar, like a memory...

The boy looked at her with those blue eyes. "Charlie," he said softly. "My name is Charlie." 


	19. Poltergiest

Andy Barclay was tired.

He had been working out all day (it seemed the military wanted superman muscles) and he was tired. And it was not only that. Shelton had been picking on the little guys again, one of them being Andy's newfound friend, Howard Whitehurst. It went the same way it always did. Andy stood up for him. Shelton threatened to beat him up. Andy held him back. Shelton was bigger than him, but Andy was getting stronger.

Still, now he was tired.

He sighed and lay out on his cot. Colonel Cochran said he wanted to meet him later. Probably about the doctor-in-the-military-thing. He smiled. He'd always wanted to be a doctor. Like his dad. And in the army, if he was a doctor, he could contribute to his country without having to kill people. He never liked the idea of taking other people's lives. They had families, too. He couldn't imagine having to live with the fact he'd killed someone's brother. Or husband. Or father. He'd rather know he'd saved people's lives. He closed his eyes. He'd sleep until five. Then he'd get up and go meet Cochran. His breathing evened out as he fell asleep.

Krista and Ellen had walked in just as he had fallen asleep. "Shh..." Krista was warning her giggling friend. "I guess we'll let him sleep, right?" Ellen nodded. She looked at the sprawled out young man. "Maybe I can sneak in next to him," she joked, and they laughed quietly before closing the door.

***

'Nisha had taken the boy with her on the tour bus. He was extremely quiet, only speaking when spoken too, and even when he spoke, it was barely a whisper. "You hungry, Charlie?" she asked. He nodded. "Alright-y," she shouted at the group, making the boy flinch. "Sorry," she said. Then she turned to her friends. "We got Mickey D's on the way, uhh..." she looked at her phone's restaurants app. "Wendy's... ooh some Chinese..." Lanika rubbed her stomach. "Yes... Chinese sounds great right now," she said. Lil' Shawn just nodded in agreement. "What about you, honey?" she asked the boy, trying to be quieter when she spoke to him. He shrugged. "It all sounds real good," he said softly. 'Nisha shrugged. "Okay then, but if you change your mind..." Then she tapped the driver. "Kay, we all ready to go!" she sang.

Charlie watched them with wide eyes. Something about the loud girl. 'Nisha. She was familiar to him. He couldn't remember why. He held his knees against his chest. He felt disoriented, but that was nothing new. He had been feeling like this for a long time. All he could think about was Andy. He had to find Andy. Then maybe he could go home. He would tell Andy he would be good. Maybe Andy would let him cuddle with him again. Or maybe they could eat peanut butter sandwiches together, like they used to.

***

Krista couldn't believe her eyes. "Quanisha! You've changed so much!" she exclaimed as the young woman hopped off the bus. 'Nisha turned to the girl in her uniform. "Awww... look at you, girl! Wearing that uniform you always talked about! You learn how to shoot?" Krista laughed. "Yah... and other stuff too," she was giggling. Lanika and Lil' Shawn were coming down the bus steps behind her. "Guys. Where's Charlie?" 'Nisha was asking. She turned to Krista. "We found some poor little kid in the some alley on the way here." Her voice lowered. "He's the sweetest thing, but he's so quiet, and he looks so scared. I don't know what he's been through at all."

Krista nodded quietly. Her red-headed friend texting on her phone. "Put that up before someone catches you, Ellen," she said, elbowing her. "I'm texting Mr. Sleepy. He should be up by now," she replied. Krista looked at her friend's message and laughed. "Quanisha! You remember that boy we used to think was so cute back in kiddie school? Andy Barclay?" The girl dropped her mouth. "Omigod! I can't believe you remember that!" she was laughing. "Yes! He was cute though… I wonder what he looks like now," she said, pursing her lips. "Well, you could see him now, if he'd wake up and get over here!" Krista laughed, pointing towards where the boys' dormitory stood. Quanisha linked her arm with her old friend's. "Well, he can see me at my concert! C'mon you guys! I gotta check out where my stage is at!" she said to Lanika and Lil' Shawn, who followed behind her.

They had forgotten the boy. But he was contented with other matters. "Andy," he murmured quietly to himself with a smile as he trotted off to where the brown-haired girl had pointed.

***

Brett Shelton knew who she was the moment he saw her. Quanisha. He remembered her, and to him, she was more beautiful now than she'd ever been before. Perhaps he could impress her now. He was designated the leader of his little troop by Cochran himself. He puffed his chest in pride. She would have to like him now. He strode over to her, where the De Silva girl and her red-headed friend stood with that noodle, Whitehurst. He could easily win her. He was much better than that worm.

What was he saying that was so funny anyways? He was just a nerd. A tech-nerd. There was nothing funny about computer chips and re-wired robots. Nothing. Quanisha was just being nice, he was sure. She was being polite. He tapped the small-framed boy on the shoulder. "Private Whitehurst!" he exclaimed loudly, enjoying watching the surprised victim jump three feet into the air. Howard turned and looked behind him, flustered and stammering, "Y-y-yes, S-s-ir?" His cheeks were slightly pink with embarrassment. Shelton grinned coyly. "You're needed to clean the outhouse, Private," he said, sniggering under his breath. He had made a fool out of Whitehurst. Quanisha would see he was a big man now, and she would want him, because women liked power. They couldn't resist it. Howard ducked his head and slunk away sheepishly with another meek, "Yes, Sir."

Shelton couldn't understand how he got in this military academy anyways.

He was expecting the look of approval from Quanisha. But instead he got the three girls scowls. "Same as always, aren't we, Sir Shelton?" Krista almost spat sarcastically. He ignored this. He wasn't here for her. He was here for Quanisha. "I recognize you, Quanisha," he said as huskily as he could. One of her friends giggled behind her, and she closed her eyes. Brett knew she was just taking it in. He dazzled her. That's what it was. He cleared his throat. "I know, I'm stunned at your beauty as well," he encouraged. Her reaction was not what he expected. She snorted. "Yah, I'm amazed, Brett," she said. "I thought you would've grown up by now. Guess I was wrong." She turned her back on him.

Yes. And he had thought she would've been impressed by his power. He guessed he was wrong as well.

***

It had taken awhile, but no one had seemed to notice him, so he had no trouble with being questioned. He had peeked in, door after door, until he had found him, sleeping, with sprawled out arms that seemed so open, so inviting. As if to say, "Come on in, it's warm in here." The boy tip-toed slowly to the young man's side, watching his chest rise and fall to his breathing. It was so quiet, peaceful almost, and the boy wanted to take it all in. He grasped the man's hand with both of his tiny ones, but only just, so that he would not wake him. "Andy," he murmured softly, pressing his cheek against the hand he held so dearly close to him. The man's fingers curled around the small hands, muttering something in his sleep that wasn't audible.

But suddenly, the boy's bottom lip began to quiver. "I'm sorry, Andy," he whispered shakily. Tears began to slip down his cheeks, trickling onto their hands. He kissed the hand gently, but held his lips against it as if parting would mean the end. "I'm so sorry. I'd do anything in the world to only have you back again." He pulled back and held his hands to his lips, trying to stuff back in everything that was trying to escape. He blinked furiously, but rain continued to fall.

I know you said you still loved me.

But I don't know if you can ever forgive me...

***

Andy heard the loud pounding on the door. He sat up suddenly. An emergency? No… he calmed himself. Surely not. There was excited, breathless laughter outside. "Andy? You dressed in there?" Krista. He smiled. "Yah," he called back assuredly, pulling on a t-shirt just as the door opened. "You liar! I saw that!" the girl accused, pointing at his shirt. "You better have some pants on." He laughed. "Relax, Krista. I don't sleep in the nude." His hand was wet. Why was his hand wet? He rubbed it hesitantly, almost as if he didn't want to. He stood up out of his cot and looked around. "Where's your friend? What's her name? Ellen?" he asked, trying to distract himself.

Krista smiled. "Oh, behind me," she said. Ellen popped out from behind her, still on her phone. "Hey, Mr. Barclay…" she sang, holding out the _ayy_ sound."That could be a song, you know. It rhymes." Andy rolled his eyes. "Sure, but who would want to sing about Mr. Barclay?"

"I would." A different voice. He looked at her. She looked familiar, somehow. "Remember me, new kid?" she asked. At his confused stare, she held up an old Barbie. "Quanisha!" he nearly shouted, and embraced her warmly. "How long has it been, Andy?" she asked in reply. She hugged him back. "Ooh, I missed you. Where did you go, anyways?"

It was such an innocent question, but it brought back memories. Good and bad. Andy flinched. "My mother was taken from me that year," he said simply, but not without emotion. "I've been in foster homes since." Quanisha grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "It's okay, hon," she said. "Let's just go enjoy our reunion." He nodded. But even after she had held his hand, he still felt that strange tingle. Like perhaps it was a trace of a dream.

***

The concert was brilliant. Lanika and Lil'Shawn had gotten themselves comfortable with Ellen and Howard, sipping martinis on a long couch in the lounge after the whole thing. Lanika yawned and stretched. "God, I am _so_ tired," she groaned, making herself comfortable on Lil' Shawn's shoulder. Ellen and Howard nodded in agreement. "If it wasn't for restrictions, I'd just sleep here on the couch," Ellen said. Howard blushed faintly when her hand bumped against his. "Yea… That'd be… nice," he stammered, watching her.

They were slowly beginning to fall under the spell of sleep when Lanika jumped. "oh… shit," she gasped. Lil' Shawn looked at her, a bit fazed and a little miffed at being woken. "What, girl?" he asked hastily. "You forgot your phone or something?" Her eyes widened. "No. Worse. Where's Charlie?"

***

Quanisha didn't know where he was. She thought he'd been with Lanika and Lil' Shawn. They thought he'd been on the bus, and the driver thought he'd been with them. Krista and the others helped search throughout the campus, but he simply couldn't be found. "Maybe he really was a ghost," Lanika whispered. "Had to be. Did you notice his eyes? So damn blue and all... haunted. You think we helped him move on?" Lil' Shawn asked. 'Nisha shrugged."I just hope he's alright, wherever he is," she said. The others nodded.

Andy just quietly gazed out into the evening, still rubbing his hand. "Charlie," he murmured softly, thinking.


	20. Revelation

Maggie set down the bag of groceries on the counter with a breathless huff. "Geez these things are so heavy. You wouldn't think all this would be so tough," she spoke aloud, taking in the kitchen around her. It was a mess. Her unopened mail was still sitting underneath all her paperwork from the office. Fan mail, she supposed.

She'd been getting a lot of money lately, from her whole book-writing business. She wasn't planning on being a writer. She only wrote this one thing because it was something she cared about. But the interviews and publicity and all the people were something she loved. She felt that she'd chipped the ice in the world, so to speak. Like she'd made a difference. Now that she'd gotten this glimpse, she really, really despised her job.

But she needed to keep a job. And writing... she couldn't deal with the deadlines. She'd had no inspiration since then. Still, she wished she could find something she could do and be passionate about. And she hadn't found it. So until then, it was office work. She shifted through the mail and smiled when she saw Karen and Mike's wedding invitation. She had seen them once or twice since they'd had gotten out of the mental institute, but apparently, Andy had never seen his mother since. She knew he was in a military academy, but she couldn't remember the name...

Her front door opened with a loud bang. She turned, startled, to meet the large imploring eyes of Johnathan Elbis. "Maggie... Maggie can we keep her?" he was asking. He was holding a small girl who was shaking and crying. She was covered in dirt and tears, and the man had wrapped her thin body with a large wool blanket. "Johnny, where did you find her?" Maggie asked. "She was... she'd been in an old shack down the road from the gas station," he said. "If I hadn't found her when I did, she would've been..." he paused, holding her closer."...taken." She didn't need to ask what that meant. "Well..." she began. It shouldn't be a problem, really. She could take care of the little girl. "I suppose I _could_..."

"Oh good!" Johnny said, relief evident on his face. "I was hoping you'd say that. Because..." he looked down sheepishly, ushering another small shape from behind him. "There's two of them." Maggie's eyes widened. "Johnny!" she whispered. "You didn't promise them anything, did you?" His eyes gave it away, and she sighed, trapped. "What if... what if we can't?" she asked. He shrugged. "There's gonna be a way," he said simply. "There _has_ to be a way." Maggie looked at the two girls. They were pitiful. It wasn't as if she couldn't support them...

Suddenly, she had an idea. Johnny was telling her he'd help all the time. Surely he wouldn't mind being keeping these desperate promises. "Johnny," she began, a smile forming on her face. "You just gave me an idea." With the money she had, she could start a little orphanage, right?

She called it Maggie's Home.

***

He had run far away. He couldn't stop the tears. He had run back to his alleyway, where the trash and the old newspapers greeted him. He had curled on the ground, trying to comfort himself, to know relief. His throat hurt, his stomach hurt, his head pounded.

His heart hurt. It ached and longed for something he knew he could not have. "Andy..." he whimpered softly. He had seen Andy. But he had remembered why he could not be with him. He remembered why Andy had been upset with him now. The days came back to his memory slowly. He had betrayed Andy. He had done terrible things, unforgivable things. He had ruined Andy's life.

When he had first watched them take Andy away, long ago, after Andy had told him he still loved him, he had tried to murder again. He couldn't. It was as if the moment the police car had driven out of sight, his world had shattered. Something went off in his mind. Suddenly, it was as if he was lost, lost in the dark and reaching out, trying to find is way around. Before, he had given his heart, over and over again, only to be crushed, and then, when he had been granted a chance at love, he missed it. He had thought that he could just take advantage of Andy, as if the way of the world was just to be cruel. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

And it hurt so much.

He didn't understand. How could he keep messing up like this? Could he not do anything right? It seemed every time he thought he had it together, things fell apart and proved him wrong. His violent coughs interrupted his thoughts, and he held his stomach tightly as he tried to shake the feeling of nausea off. His hands clenched angrily. He was done with people. He was done with the need of being with them. He was...

He was so lost in his own misery that he didn't hear something. A humming something. There was the sound of rain boots squelching against the cold, soggy ground. But who? Who in the world would be walking around in this dump besides himself?

It was a girl. A little girl with tangled blonde hair and a dingy white dress. She was splashing in the puddles with purple rain boots. She was humming to herself while splashing through the water, giggling every time it hit her legs or the hem of her dress. She heard the pitiful sobs interrupt her happy, made-up melody, and she looked up and saw him. A boy. A kid, just like her. She heard his coughs and flinched as he threw up bile on the cold ground.

But he was crying for someone. Why was he crying for him?

"Why you're crying? Is it 'cuz you're sick?" The boy looked up into painfully green eyes. They were wide and curious, and full of innocent compassion. Just like Andy's. He sniffed and wiped his mouth, preparing a foul lie, but changed his mind. "Yes," he said softly. He didn't need to worry about being tough with this girl. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't make a difference. "Can't you go home?" she asked. She plopped down next to him, clicking her boot toes. "Mamma takes care of me when I'm sick. You should just get your Mamma. She'll know what to do. Mmhmm." She nodded. He shook his head. "I ain't got a Mamma. I ain't got a home. Not anymore. I've been bad." He sniffed and wiped his nose this time. The girl's eyes widened. "Oh. You been bad," she sympathized. "I know. Me too. I been bad too before... I been real bad once," her lip trembled a bit. "I hurt my Mamma somethin' awful. I called her a bad word."

He watched her. What could she possibly have done worse than him? She didn't understand. But he wanted to know. So he asked. She sighed and fluffed her dress. "I got mad at her. We were fighting and fighting, all day, and the next day, and the next. I was cutting my hair 'cuz I was so mad, and when she came in... I threw them scissors at her..." she started to sniffle, and a tear ran down her cheek. "I didn't mean to, but it hit her. Right in her arm. And I called her the 'b' word..." she looked down, ashamed. "I made her cry real bad. And then I ran away, 'cuz I was so scared." The boy felt his heart tighten. He didn't know why, but he wanted so desperately to know, what did she do after that? "Did you stay away forever?" he asked timidly.

She smiled. "No, silly," she said. "I can't run away forever. I came back. I was scared as the dickens, I was. I thought she never wanted to see me again. But when she saw me, she hugged me real tight, and I told her I was sorriest of all, and she told me she still loved me, and that we could still be a family." She looked at him. "Your Mamma still loves you too, I'll bet. Mmhmm. And Andy too!" The boy's eyes widened, and then a woman's voice called for the girl. She stood up. "I gotta go," she said hopping around happily. "My Mamma's callin' me." He tried to reach for her, ask her, "How did you know? Who told you about Andy?" but she was gone, calling, "Mamma! I'm here!" and he was left to think about what she had just told him.

And it was then he realized something. A mid-life crisis? Perhaps. But he realized, right then and there, the one thing he had never done in his life, was go back. He had always, always, run away. Never had he thought of returning. He had made himself hurt, angry, sorrowful, malicious... but never hopeful. He had never tried starting again. Because, he had to admit to himself, he was afraid. He was afraid of what starting again would be like. He had been a coward all his life and never turned back, running away and leaving his problems behind. But he finally understood that no matter where he ran, the problems would still be there until he dealt with them. The girl had done so. She had been scared too But she had gone back. She had gone back to the one who loved her, and told her sorry. And they had started over. He stood up slowly, and walked out of the alleyway. As he reached the cracked sidewalk that outlined the suburb streets, he saw her. He saw the girl and her mother embracing, watching the sprinkling raindrops start to fall.

***

Maggie was surprised to hear the knock on her door at this hour. "Goodness, surely not another interviewer," she muttered. Perhaps it was Karen, though her friend had said she and Mike would not arrive until tomorrow. She wrapped the little girl and her small companion up tight in their blankets, and left them with Johnny who was making sock puppets and making them giggle at his silly impressions. She walked to the entrance of her house, wondering if she'd imagined it. She hadn't heard it again, and the first one was so timid that she could have imagined it.

The door opened with a loud creak, and she reminded herself she needed to get that fixed. "Are you Ms. Peterson?" a small voice asked. She looked down and could not believe her eyes. But it was unmistakable. No one else she knew had those blue orbs and that bright hair, or those clothes for that matter. He coughed wearily and knelt on the steps, his hand resting against the door frame for support. "Yes, this is Maggie," she said hesitantly. Could it be who she thought it was? This one's personality was so different. Unless it was part of his plan. But he looked at her with such genuine sorrow- though perhaps it was the rain and the dirt on his face- that she felt it had to be true remorse. What did he want? "It's me, Ms. Maggie. It's Chucky. I've come back, Ms. Maggie," he said softly, tears brimming his eyes. "I've come back to say I'm sorry."


	21. Of le Pardon

Kyle rubbed her eyes tiredly just as her newest patient walked in. He was a young man covered in black clothes and chains, and a nice lip ring to match. Your typical wanna-be tough punk goth. She sighed inwardly as she prepared for a long grueling session of sarcasm and edged words that were what she knew to be only a cover up for insecurities. "I don't need to be here," he stated. Of course. "Of course you don't," she said just as simply, gesturing to the chair in front of her. "Sit. And have some candy if you like." Her eyebrow cocked and sarcasm dripped from her voice. "Perhaps the sweet sugar will melt you up so you tell me all your dirty, disgusting and embarrassing little secrets."

His face shone with a quick look of shock, but it clouded back to the emotionless exterior in hardly a second. "Let's just get this over with," he said, pulling the hair over his eyes. "Alright then," She replied, setting her feet on her desk. If she was going to be stuck here all day, at least she should be comfortable. She deserved that. "So, Damien, that's you name, right? You're here for arson and attempted murder." He nodded. She huffed. "Killers," she said, rolling her eyes. "Think that killing people makes them respect you, when it only makes them dead." She held up the book that Ms. Peterson had written in front of his face. "Have you read this, Damien?"

He sat there with a blank look. She knew why. Her patients could never get over how she dealt with them the first time. They were used to the coddling and the babying and pleading. She knew it only annoyed them. She'd been there. She had hated her psychiatrist. How ironic that she was one now. "Well, I'm waiting. You may be a rebel, but I know you're not dumb." He opened his mouth. "Nope, never. I've heard of it though," he said, trying to maintain that cold, steely voice. "Sounds like a load of shit- you can't make me read it. I don't read." He scowled. "Puh-_lease,_" Kyle replied, equally as metallic. "Why would I let you read this? I don't share my books with my patients." She looked at it before setting it back down. "Besides, it's too radical for your small mind." Then she smiled as sweetly as she could, enjoying his confused expression. "You haven't had a candy yet, Damien. Don't you want a sucker?"

Needless to say, it was probably one of her favorite sessions all afternoon.

***

Maggie was left with no words to say. Karen and Mike were coming here tomorrow. Tomorrow! To get ready for a wedding, for new life! And here comes Chucky, this killer doll, after all these years, to say sorry. Now? Why now? Why couldn't he just stay away from them and bother somebody else? After all he'd done... she couldn't just let him back in, could she? It would be betraying her friends and everyone she loved. She'd already made that mistake once. But there was one thing holding her back from shutting the door on him.

He had come back. He had acknowledged he had done wrong. He had actually realized he had done wrong! He was here, literally on his knees begging for forgiveness, never mind the fact that it was mostly because he was so sick. And he was sick, speaking of which. She would have to be heartless to leave him out here, where it rained and people caught diseases like the plague. He was looking at her with those big blue eyes, and that child-like face. Wait...

"When did you become a real boy?" She felt like Ghepetto. He looked a little surprised, and she couldn't blame him. He had asked for redemption and she responded a silly question like that. "I... It's sort of..." he stuttered, a little thrown off and lost. She waved it away. "Never mind all that, Chucky," she said. She looked around, stalling, making the last argument in her mind about whether to let him in or not. At last, she opened the door a little wider, trying to convince herself this was the right thing to do. "Come on in," she said. His face brightened a tiny bit. "Thank you Ms. Peterson," he whispered. "You won't be sorry, I promise…" He walked in timidly, and his eyes darted around as if he were waiting for something to attack, any moment from now. Johnny was still entertaining the little girls.

Johnny. She had forgotten about him. Chucky looked at him, stared, surprise evident on his face. "I thought you were dead," he said simply in a raspy voice. There was no shock or anger in his voice, he just said it. Johnny stared back, mouth agape, and there was a resounding silence. She had forgotten. She cursed herself. Of course. This had been a bad idea. Why had she done this? The little girls were looking back and forth between them, asking, "Johnny, Johnny, who's that? Who's that? What's the matter?" Maggie felt herself tense. Now would come chaos, and it was all her fault, again. Letting Charles Lee Ray back in again, and now there would be murder, and Karen and Mike would come home to more trauma, and perhaps be sent back to the loony bin for good and never want to come out...

She had been so into her thoughts that she didn't notice the silence. The peace. Johnny had come to the boy's side and knelt down to his height. "Charles," he said softly. The boy sniffed. "I remember you." It was all he said. Then he held the boy's shoulder, and looked at Maggie. The girls had hushed, but they still had questioning eyes about the intruder who had made Uncle Johnny upset. She shook, bringing herself to reality. "Can we...?" Johnny began, gesturing to the girls. Chucky looked blank, but tears were misting on his eyes. Maggie sprung to life. "Of course, of course! Silly me! C'mon girls, let's go watch Cinderella while Johnny, umm... catches up... with some an old friend. Come with Aunt Maggie!" she said, busying herself with picking them up and listening to their chorusing "_Cinderella_!"

"I thought you were dead," the boy said again. Johnny sighed. "I should be," he said softly. He sat and folded his hands in his lap. "I owe you an apology, Charles," he whispered. "Much more than that, actually, but, I have nothing to offer you." Chucky's eyes widened a bit when the man held his hands to his face in shame. He had not expected this. He didn't know what he had expected, to be honest with himself. This man did not deserve his forgiveness. If it weren't for this man, he would have never been in this mess! He had treated him like merchandise! He had ruined his life...

Just like he had ruined Andy's... And he had not deserved to even walk through the door into this house. So perhaps they all just needed a little forgiveness. He knelt down and grasped the man's hands. "Well," he said slowly, and it felt as if he were released from carrying a boulder. "We all've got a few skeletons in our closet, that's for sure."

***

John Simonsen had been released from the hospital after a long time of intensive care. He was being escorted home by an Officer Jones. She was a friendly lady, with a boisterous voice and a wide smile. "You doin' alright, Mister Simonsen?" she asked as she helped into the back of her car. "Doin' fine, Ma'am, thank you," he replied with a grin. She hopped in the front and started the engine. "Just tell me where to turn, Mister Simonsen," she said, turning to see out behind her before backing out. "You live out in the hood?" He laughed. "Yup. I sure do, Ma'am. You be catching them kids out in the streets?" She nodded. "Mmmhmm. I sure do. I sure do. See my daughter here?" she pointed to a photo of her. "My Quanisha. I taught her to do none of that, stealing. Her daddy got busted, and we ain't seen him since, he been drinkin' and smokin' and wastin' time. Finally divorced him." John looked out the window. "I'm sorry Ma'am," he said.

She laughed, and it sounded like sunshine was blowing through instead of the air conditioning. "Don't be, honey! It's like getting rid of a load, it is. I had made a bad choice, tryin' to move in with him in high school. We had my 'Nisha girl before I done graduated." She touched the picture lovingly before stopping at a red light. " My 'Nisha's a pop star now. She done take good care of herself," she said quietly. "I'm real proud of her." John said nothing; he only nodded and pointed "Down here, when they were close to his small house. She stopped up on the side of the lawn and opened the door for him. "Thank you so much, Missus Jones," he said politely. "Ain't nothing, honey. You need help anytime, just call me. Roshonda Jones, Mmhmm." She pulled out a piece of paper from her notepad and a pen to write her number. He nodded. "Yes. Ma'am. I will. I will. Thank you again."

He had made it to the door before she drove off, and not without her reminding him to call again. He smiled. She must be living alone. She showed that loneliness a person like her would show. He looked at the number. Then he dialed it. "Already, Mr. Simonsen? That was fast!" he could hear her laugh. Like bells. "What you need, honey?" He laughed. "Not much really." He twirled the phone cord around his fingers. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go get some coffee sometime." 

There was a silence for some time. Then she said, "I'd like that, Mr. Simonsen. I'd like that very much."

***

'Nisha had had to leave, but not before saying good-bye to her friends. Krista hugged her tight. "Good-bye, Quanisha. Don't forget to write me." 'Nisha nodded. "Girl, I got you. I leave the fan mail to Lanika and Lil' Shawn, when they ain't making out," she said, elbowing Lanika playfully and making her friend laugh. "But _your_ letters? I'll read them myself!" She looked at Andy. "You write me too, Andy," she said before squeezing him tight. Then she turned and left, Lil' Shawn and Lanika saying their good-byes before following behind.

Krista and Andy were silent as the Quanisha and her friends loaded the bus. There was the sound of the engine, and then the bus drove down the old road, leaving a trail of dust behind. Krista was watching Andy's face, the shifting of expressions as he appeared deep in thought. "You know," Krista began softly. "I saw him. Charlie." Andy nodded. "I know who it is, Krista," he responded in a voice that sounded like one awakening from a dream. "I know who he is. We both do." Krista sighed and hooked her arm around Andy's in comfort. "He was looking for you," she said finally, trying to break the tension, as they headed back towards the academy. When he didn't reply, she went on. "What are you going to do?"

There was still only the morning silence for a few minutes. But as they rounded the center plaza, Andy finally answered her. "When I first came here, I was having a little trouble deciding something in my life. But then something came up," he looked down at his hand thoughtfully, "and I've found my answer." He was looking away, watching the other people come out of their bunkers, the noise of life waking up the earth. Krista looked up at him. Her eyes were searching his face. "What was it?" she asked, curious.

He looked back at her, brown eyes golden with the rising sun. "Forgiveness," he said softly, so that she almost thought she'd imagined it. "I was having a little trouble with forgiveness."


	22. Life Doesn't Wait

"So they're going to get married? How exciting!" Krista wanted to know all the details. "What kind of dress is she going to wear? Are they doing it in a church, or what?" Andy laughed. "I don't know... I really don't. I'm surprised my mom found out where I was. It's been years since I've seen her." He ran his hands through his hair. "To think, she's marrying the guy she got onto me for talking to at Wal-Mart like a thousand years ago..."

***

Karen was coming. Maggie heard the sound of car wheels driving up her driveway. She was here! Maggie felt an overflow of joy. It had been so long since she'd seen her. So very long. They had so much to catch up on- Johnny, the girls, her plan of an orphanage...

And also about Charles. Maggie stopped at the door. What would Karen say about him? What would she do? What would she think? She felt a mix of joy and fear. She wanted to see Karen and Mike, she really did, but she was afraid. She was afraid she'd done wrong. Bringing hurt back into their lives. She hoped Karen would understand. She hoped Karen trusted she was doing the right thing. She tossed her hair, trying to gain herself confidence, and opened the door. Karen was sliding out of the car, smiling and saying something to Mike. Oh, their faces! It'd been so long since she'd seen them! "Karen!" she called.

Her friend looked up. "Maggie!" she exclaimed, leaving her bags to embrace her friend. "Maggie! It's been so long!" She hugged her tightly. Maggie held her back, but the thought of her friend's face when she saw that familiar nightmare kept her worried. "I have so much to tell you!" Karen said when she finally let go. Mike was bringing the bags. "Oh, here, honey, let me help," she said, taking some of his load on her own shoulders. Maggie smiled wanly and let them in. "Yah..." she said slowly as they entered the dining room, where Mike let down the heavy luggage with a breathy huff. "I've got a lot to tell you too, Karen..."

The dining room door opened."Ms. Maggie? Did you want me to wait to do the dishes until after dinner? It looked like a big pile to me, so I'm washing them now. Is that alright?" Maggie froze. Karen covered her mouth, and Mike's eyebrows rose. "Umm..." she turned to see Chucky, covered in soap and a dishtowel in his hands. "Why don't you go do them now? That's a great idea," she said, trying to push him back in to the kitchen. "A very good idea..." He looked at her questioningly, no doubt because of her behavior, but he nodded and disappeared back behind the door.

"What... is he... doing here?" Karen whispered. She was holding Mike's hand. Mike's eyes were fixed on the door, and Maggie knew well enough that that meant he was getting into his obnoxious detective-novelist behavior. But he said nothing, and she was grateful. "About all that I needed to talk to you about?" she began awkwardly. "That's one of them." Karen stared at her, and instantly understood Maggie's tone of voice. "We need to have a long talk, don't we?" she slowly. Maggie nodded. "Yup," she said. Karen breathed in and out through her mouth in the shape of an "o". "You can lead me to my room then," she said, picking up her suitcases. "And Mike can..." she looked around, trying to find something for him to do. "Talk to Johnny!" Maggie said hurriedly. "You'd love him. Johnny!" she called.

After they had gotten the men settled, they snuck upstairs to the room Maggie had designated for them and shut the door. "Are you crazy?" Karen asked, not angry, but not all too pleased either. She held her hands up to her cheeks for emphasis. "Him? Why? What happened? Why is he here?" Maggie sat down on the bed and picked up one of the pillows. "It's a long story," she said. Karen joined her and put her hands in her lap. "I've got two weeks until my wedding Maggie," she began. Maggie tensed. But Karen held her hand. "I've got time. I want to know where your logic is behind all this madness."

***

He had come back for another session. Kyle shifted through her notepad to find his section. "Hello, Damien," she said with a smile. She was in a really good mood. Not even his familiar sour face was ruining it today. Mrs. Barclay had remembered her. She had gotten the wedding invitation in the mail, and Mrs. Barclay, soon to be Mrs. Norris, wanted her to be a bridesmaid. "You look disgustingly cheery today," he grumped, making himself comfortable in the cushioned pillows on the couch. "Look, Damien," she said, folding her hands and leaning over her desk to get closer to her. "I've got a proposition. Seeing how all we ever do in these little "sessions" of ours is me talking and you being... well, being you, I suggest we do something else next time." She tossed the wedding invite at him. "My friend is getting married in two weeks, on the same day your next appointment is. How about we go there instead?" Damien scowled. "Hum. No way," he said flatly. Kyle shrugged. "Fine. Do you mind skipping that day then, and meeting some other time?"

She had really expected him to agree, or say something rude. But instead he held the invite and looked at it quietly. "Aren't you scared I'll set the place on fire?" he asked. She snorted. "Hun, I saw my foster mother cut up and sewn together by a sewing machine. Nothing scares me now." She adjusted the books on her desk. "So are you coming?"

He looked up at her. His eyes were green and gold. Strange. Usually they had those frightening blue eyes. Or maybe that was just her remembering other things. "How long is it going to be?" he asked quietly, still fingering the card where Mrs. Barclay and her fiancé's picture was printed. "Two hours, tops. Though I really don't know. They're having it in the city park, so I expect it shouldn't be so stuffy." He nodded. "And you're going to be there too?" he asked. What kind of a question was that? "Hum... yes," she said, emphasizing the yes. "I'm one of the bridesmaids, so I won't be sitting with you. But I'll have my eye on you," she pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at him, "so don't try anything funny."

Was that a smile on his face? She honestly didn't know.

***

Karen was still pondering what Maggie had told her when she heard a sound. A stifled sound, like crying. Probably in the room next door, because whoever it was obviously didn't want anyone knowing. She looked over at Mike, who was sleeping with his arm hung over the side of the bed, his mouth open. He looked like such a dork. She smiled at him before quietly getting up and tip-toeing across the room to the door.

What was she going to do about that killer? That doll, or whatever he was now? It still hurt. If he hadn't come into her life, she would have never lost Andrew. Or Andy. It was his fault. How could she forgive him? Mike made a muffled sound in his sleep, and she turned back to gaze at him. She did love him, with all her heart. She was glad she met him. And she had to realize that, had it not been for this doll, she wouldn't have met Mike. They wouldn't have found each other.

She snuck out the door into the hallway. She was right. It was next door. One of the little girls, perhaps? Maybe. Maggie had told her about them too. Sara and Sarah. Friends because they had the same name. Poor dears. She crept to the other door, slowly turning the doorknob, and crawling around the door into the dark room. She realized instantly it wasn't one of the girls.

They wouldn't be crying for Andy.

She stopped. She couldn't do this! He did not deserve her pity, or her mercy, or whatever it was. He had done wrong. He should pay, right? She watched him clutch the pillow and sob into it pitifully, an unending cry that was only silenced by coughing. She was such a woman, feeling sorry for him. This wasn't right, was it? She was still deciding this when she heard him call for his mother. His mother. Elizabeth. Perhaps he didn't deserve it, perhaps he did. He seemed to have suffered, to be suffering now. Besides, she remembered, she was his godmother. She had promised Elizabeth. She'd promised.

She crawled over to the side of the bed and gently shook his shoulder. "Charles?" she whispered. How strange, she had never actually spoken to him before. He opened his eyes slowly, trying to blink out the tears as he woke. His eyes! He had her eyes. She remembered. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to wake you up. It just happens..." Karen held his hands. "Do you remember me?" she asked. He nodded. "I know. I saw you earlier," he sniffed. He seemed to shrink away from her. "You don't have to stay and look at me, you know," he said. "I probably disgust you."

Karen didn't say much. She just sighed and curled her arm underneath him, cradling him. "Your eyes are like your mom's," she said gently. He looked up at her. "You knew my mom?" he asked, wiping his eyes. She nodded. "We met because your father and my husband were childhood friends. It was she and I that thought up your name," she replied. How, she wondered, how could he look so small now? He had seemed like a threat and was a nationwide danger once. And now he was not? "Tell me about her," he said, watching her with those wide blue eyes. "Tell me about my mother..."

***

The wedding was beautiful, despite the fact there was that horrendous news in the paper saying that America was going to war, and was now recruiting. The sun shone brightly as ever, and the returning autumn leaves added so much color. It was Mike's favorite season. Maggie and Kyle smiled and nudged each other as Karen walked across the grass. Her bare feet could feel the cool grass with each step. There were the typical coos and gasps at her dress, or her hair. Mike was waiting with a relaxed smile on his face.

Damien had come. Kyle was surprised he had shown up. But he had (up front, too!), and he was watching every moment. He had actually cleaned up nicely, as well. He looked more like the grown man that he was rather than a juvenile. Maybe it was just the removal of the lip ring. Kyle had always hated those for some odd reason. But what really caught her attention about him was that he was moved by this. His face was losing that cold exterior with every step Karen took towards her husband-to-be, and she swore she saw his eyes water. She cheered herself inwardly for telling him to come. Perhaps it had done some good.

Andy was sitting on the left side of the group. He saw a lot of people he didn't know. He was glad he had asked Krista to come along. Ellen was late, but Howard couldn't make it. Something to do with Shelton. Quanisha was on tour, already miles away, but she had sent back a letter saying she wanted pictures, and lots of them. He also saw some people he did know. Maggie for one. He remembered the blonde woman standing next to Maggie, but he couldn't recall her name. He also vaguely recognized Quanisha's mother, but the man sitting next to her he'd never seen. He had a thick cast on his leg. Andy turned back to watch his mother's face. He hadn't seen her so happy in such a long time- heck, he hadn't seen her in a long time in general. He smiled when Krista squeezed his hand. Much as she acted like a boy, liking guns and combat, she was also such a girl when it came to weddings. "It's so beautiful," she whispered happily. He turned to reply, but something else had caught his eye just then.

Chucky saw Andy. He knew it was him. He didn't know what to do. And he was right over there. He wasn't that far away, only a few steps. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. For some reason, he really just couldn't face him. He just seemed so happy, sitting with that girl. Chucky remembered that girl too. Krista. He couldn't just walk over there and ruin Andy's happiness. Andy deserved to be happy. Andy did not deserve to suffer again. So he stayed away, though it hurt so very badly.

Andy had hugged his mother tightly when it was over. There were lots of tears of joy. He would have stayed longer, to tell her how much he had missed her. They had so much to catch up on. But the academy called, saying they needed to talk to him. And it was urgent.

Andy Barclay found himself sitting on his cot that night, reading an official letter, each word dragging his heart down lower.


	23. Wait for Me

Howard had gotten it too. Unfortunately, so had Brett Shelton. Krista had not, but she had volunteered. It was always her thing, to be in combat, to get in the action and be a hero. Since she had been young, she had seen movies and read stories about soldiers, and war. She didn't like the killing all too much, but she figured that if her loved ones were in trouble and that was the only way to keep them safe, she'd do it for them. Besides, she always liked the way the captains and generals spoke when they laid out battle strategies. She wanted to be able to jump across buildings and throw bombs like a pro.

Andy, however, did not. The last thing he wanted to do was go to war. He had just seen his mother re-married, and he was missing home. He had been far from it for too long, and he wondered why it had to be now, and not some other time. He knew the only reason that the army had recruited him was because of the academy. He was not looking forward to it, especially not with Shelton. He did not like the idea of having to put his life in that man's hands. For all he knew, Shelton would turn him and Howard in to the enemy. Or maybe not. He'd seen those films where the jerk finally realizes, through the tragedies of war, how amazing some of those he mistreated actually were. But that was the movies. This was real life.

Krista told him she had written Quanisha about it. The pop star had replied, hoping she could come around to say good-bye when they were deported. He was not looking forward to saying good-bye to anyone. He just wanted to stay home.

***

Damien was looking nervous. "What's wrong, Damien?" Kyle asked. "Did the wedding scare you that bad?" He shook his head. "No. It's not that. The wedding was great. I just..." he wrung his hands, struggling to find words. The clock on the wall ticked away. Kyle turned to him with concern. "What is it?" she asked again, this time a bit more gently. "All my life, I've acted like a child," he said softly. "I'm almost thirty years old, and I haven't done a thing with my life. Last week, the wedding, it... it made me realize. I could be married. I could have a family. I could have..." his voice choked, and he pressed his hand against his mouth. Kyle knelt down and held his hands. "You could have what, Damien?" she asked. 

He looked at her, his eyes spilling over with tears. "I could have someone to write to when I'm away in this god-forsaken war," he whispered sadly. He wiped his tears away hastily. "Ms. Anderson... I know... I've been a terrible patient," he confessed. Kyle laughed softly. "You're not the worst, Damien, I can promise you that," she replied. Damien's fingers curled around hers, and she realized just how small her hands were compared to his. "Will you write me?" he asked timidly. Her eyes widened. "I... um... of course... why not?" she asked, surprised at how flustered she sounded. Why shouldn't she, right? It was the nice thing to do. That's why she'd do it. Right.

And, after all, his smile was worth it.

***

Roshonda had worried that John would be called away. But his injury prevented him. "I'm so glad, really, that you get to stay, hon," she told him as she set a mug of cocoa on the table in from of him. She had invited him over for the afternoon, and it was certain that they were becoming closer very quickly. He smiled and held her hand. "I am too. I'd hate to have to leave you," he said with a flirtatious wink. "Oh you," she laughed, playfully smacking him. "Drink your cocoa before it gets cold." John took a slow sip and looked out the window. "Winter'll be comin' soon, won't it?" he asked, watching the trees shake from the wind. She nodded. "Mmhmm. Soon. I want my 'Nisha to be home on Christmas. She can make an album in town, can't she?" He shrugged. "Maybe."

She watched him for a moment. Then she put her arms around him. "I want you here for Christmas too, John," she said. He looked up at her and smiled. "You can count on it, Ma'am," he said softly, patting her hands. "You can count on it."

***

Ellen was squeezing Howard tightly. "I'll write you every day!" she cried. "You better write me back, Howard Whitehurst, or I'll die!" He laughed, but he knew what she meant, and in truth, it was no laughing matter. "You better write me too, Ellen," he said softly. "I'll be thinkin' of you." She was crying. "I'd come with you, but you know I can't do this kind of stuff..." she whispered. He held her face up and wiped her tears away gently. "I promise I'll write, Ellen," he said, holding her closely to him. "Every day." She only held him tighter, her hands gripping his uniform. "Stay safe, please," she said, burying her face in his chest. "For me." He nodded. "I will, Ellen. I promise."

The trucks were roaring to life. Krista was getting on board when she heard Quanisha's voice. "Hey!" she called. Krista turned around. "You didn't think you could leave without me saying good-bye, did you?" she asked. Krista smiled. "No. Not at all," she said, hugging her old friend. She sighed. "Sometimes, Quanisha, I wish we were back in kiddie school. When army was just for pretend." The black girl punched her arm. "You sayin' that already, girl?" she asked with a smile. "But seriously, be safe now, you hear? I don't wanna have to write some sad song about my best friend." Krista shook her head. "No worries. I've got skills," she joked. "Did you get to say good-bye to Andy?"

Quanisha nodded. "Yup," she said. "He's at the house. His Momma's cryin' something real awful." She looked down. "I'm gonna miss you guys," she said. Krista hugged her again. "Don't cry, Quanisha," she said. "I ain't gonna cry girl," her friend replied, smiling sadly. "At least, not until I realize you guys are gone for real." They embraced one last time before Krista's name was called, and she disappeared into the vehicle.

Brett noticed her. He had noticed how Whitehurst and that girl had a little moment over there. He wanted someone to write him too. He deserved it. And even if Quanisha didn't think so, she'd have to, right? Because it was the right thing to do for a soldier, for a future hero of America. She'd have to, indeed she would. He strode over to her. "You don't have to cry, Quanisha," he said cockily. "You can write me, and I can have your picture in my pocket. What do you say?" he asked. She turned to him and scowled, a dark and frightening look. "Brett Shelton," she began. She prodded her index finger into his chest repeatedly. "Here's all I got to say to you. We are not kids anymore. Stop acting like one. I hope the war makes you grow up and realize it's not all about you." She looked into his eyes, her fiery emotion real, penetrating. "I hope it teaches you how to truly be a man. Something that medals, uniforms, or power can never give you." She started to walk away, but then she looked back once more. "You may own the playground, Brett," she said softly. "But my merry-go-round will never turn for you." Then she left, leaving him feeling alone and empty, and wondering what she meant by a real man.

She was crying as she left. But he didn't see it, and even if he had, he wouldn't know why.

***

Karen was trying to maintain a brave face, but tears kept escaping. "Oh, Andy," she said sadly. "You look just like your father, now that you're all grown." She grasped his shoulders before holding him tightly again, keeping him there, trying to remember the little boy she used to know, trying to keep him that way, though she knew she couldn't. "I'm gonna miss you, Mom," he murmured, trying himself to remember every detail of her face. He turned to Mike, who was standing to the side, hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry I haven't really gotten the chance to call you Dad, Mike," he said, holding out his hand. Mike shook it and the two men embraced. Karen cried, and Maggie hugged her, her eyes misting. The little girls were crying- they hadn't really gotten to spend too much time with him, but they had loved this boy with the brown eyes the instant he learned their names. "Andy, Andy!" they called. "You can't leave us! We were supposed to make gingerbread men at Christmas!"

Andy smiled sadly. "Maybe I'll be back by Christmas," he said, though he doubted it. Maggie held out an arm for him, and he embraced her. "I'm really going to miss you all," he said again. Johnny shook his hand. "Good luck, son," he said. Andy nodded. "You take care of Aunt Maggie for me," he replied knowingly. "She needs looking after sometimes, you know." Johnny smiled, but it was a tight smile. No one could really smile genuinely. "Well," he said looking around. "I've got to go." He seemed to be waiting for something, but he finally turned and opened the screen door, listening to its creaking sound as it shut behind him.

The wind was biting. Winter was definitely on the way, he thought to himself as he walked down the steps. In just a week, it had gone from the cool autumn breeze to this icy chill. He shivered slightly as he stepped over the fallen leaves. He was still trying to make himself believe this was happening. What if he died? What if he was taken captive? What if he never came home? He tried to shut it out, but it was in vain, and he wondered if other soldiers ever felt this way. Did they ever think of these things when they held up a gun?

"Wait!" The cry rang across the chilly air. Andy turned, and his heart nearly broke at what he saw. "Please don't go! Please don't leave! You can't! You'll die!" The boy had reached his side and was clinging to his leg pleadingly. "I'm sorry, Andy! I know I've been bad, but I promise I'll be good this time! I'm sorry! I promise! I'll be so very good this time! Just please don't leave me..." he was sobbing. Andy knelt down and held his face, and it hurt him that this poor boy had waited until now to come to him. "Please don't go," he whimpered, his blue eyes piercing Andy's heart. "Chucky," he said slowly, the feeling of the name so strange on his tongue. It had been so long since he'd spoken to him. He stroked the boy's cheek, and marveled at how soft it felt under his fingertips. "You and I both know I have to go," he said softly. "I can't stay."

Chucky's small fingers were still gripping his sleeves. "This is all my fault," he whispered. "This is all my fault..." His bottom lip was trembling fiercely. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be home now, to stay..." he looked down at his shoes. Andy held up the boy's chin. "Listen to me," he murmured. He placed a hand over Chucky's heart. "You see this? I want you to take care of it for me, alright? It's very special to me, and I don't want it to get bruised or broken anymore." He looked up into the boy's eyes. "It's been hurt too many times. Take care of it, you hear?" Chucky nodded, sniffling, trying as hard as he could not to burst into tears again. "Andy? If I take good care of it, will you want it back if you get home?"

Andy smiled. "_When_ I come back home, Chucky, I will keep it close to me," he replied softly. "And I will never let it go for the rest of my life. I promise." He stood slowly. The leaves were falling at a seemingly precarious speed. He looked back at house once more, where he knew his family was enclosed. "Wait for me, Chucky," he said softly. "I will come back, I promise, no matter what. Wait for me."

And then he was gone, and as the lumbering vehicles drove away into the distance, the boy was still standing there, with his hands pressed to his heart, the words still echoing in his head.

_Wait for me._


	24. Hero

It felt surreal, being a part of this family like nothing was wrong. Chucky sometimes wondered if it wouldn't backfire on him, like one of these days they were all going to turn on him and say, "Just kidding, why would we want you? You don't deserve this. Get away." and throw him out like so many other people had done. He had fought with himself about it, trying to decide whether or not to just shut them out and kill them, like he'd always done.

But then he'd remember what happened when he treated Andy that way, how much he'd lost, and then he'd lower the knife and chop the vegetables for the salad instead, pushing away his doubt, trying to convince himself that he would be alright, that these people loved him like they said they did. But it still felt so raw, his wounds still bled inside, and he still felt like he was only betraying himself when he hugged the girls or laughed with Mrs. Barclay and Maggie.

He still felt like he didn't belong.

Maggie felt it. Karen felt it. Johnny, in one way or another felt it, but he and the boy kept their distance. They were still warming up to each other. But the women knew. They saw the way the boy constantly apologized, for things that weren't necessarily his fault. Maggie had been in the dining room when he'd dropped one of the plates he'd washed on the floor. She didn't understand at first if he was crying about the loud noise, or the fact he'd dropped it, until he started wailing, "I'm sorry," over and over again. It took her half an hour to reassure him that it was fine, no one minded, and that everyone dropped or broke things on accident once in a while.

Karen knew it had to be more than just his small mistakes. She was in the kitchen, slicing a bruised tomato, when she discovered this. He was watching her; curious as to why she didn't just throw it away, since it was so black and ruined already. "Oh, it's fine, Charles, don't you see?" she explained. "I just have to cut the bad parts out. The tomato just has to go through a little bit of pain..." here she trimmed away the bruised, gross section of the red fruit, "but after that, it's fixed and ready to be a tomato, and we can still eat it. No harm done, see?"

He had put his head down against the table, and she knew his shoulders weren't shaking because he was laughing. She just put her arms around him and let him figure it out, the poor dear. She couldn't begin to imagine what was going on in his mind, but she hoped that what she'd said hadn't been bad. She and Maggie both knew that what he was going through was hard. Changing was a hard thing.

***

It was desolate. Things were not looking good at all. Andy barely even flinched anymore as another bomb went off near their encampment. He looked up from his letter, which he soon crumpled and threw away, frustrated. He didn't know what to say. There were so many things going on in his mind right now. Howard was studying the battle plan on the table; he didn't jump at the loud explosion, but Andy saw his eyes widen in surprise. He hoped that they'd all make it out alive, but then again, what solider didn't want the same for his comrades? He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling the weight of the war. He just wanted it to be all over.

The tent flap opened just as another blatant screech sounded in the air. Krista's head popped in, eyes wide. "Andy? You've got that kit, right?" she asked worriedly. He stood. "Yes," he replied, searching her face. "Why?" She wrung her hands. "You know, I never thought I'd say this... but... it's Shelton. I'm worried about him. He's wounded. Badly." Andy swiftly picked up the black tote he carried around; he had not forgotten the desire to be a doctor and not a soldier at all. "Where is he?" he asked, reaching her side. Howard looked up, and Andy could see that the young man was struggling whether to truly care or not, and he couldn't blame him. Shelton had been a thorn in all of their sides, even now. But he had long forgiven that man. Grudges were too heavy to carry when he had more important things to worry about, like his mother.

Or little boys with blue eyes, ones who were holding on to a promise that he would come home.

He could hear the pained sounds before he entered. "Shelton?" he said cautiously. The injured man looked up at him with a scowl. "God, can you fix this, you sonofabitch?" he groaned, holding his severely bleeding side. Andy laughed; for some reason, that sort of voice and language made him think of an old "best friend" he'd had once upon a time. "I've got this, Shelton," he said. "This isn't as bad as it looks-or feels- I promise." Shelton grunted and laid out flat so Andy could see the wound. "Well, damn it, you better do it right, or..." his threat was cut off with another howl of pain. Andy shook his head at the large gash and began cleaning up the oozing blood. "It's really deep, Shelton," he said. "I'm going to have to stitch it up. You want anesthesia?"

The bulkier man grunted some more profanity, but Andy took it as a yes. He placed the gas mask over Shelton's face and had him count down until he finally went under. He then took a look into the wound, and grimacing, grabbed forceps out of his bag and reached in to pull out the shards of glass that had dislodged themselves into Shelton's body. Krista stood at his side, and gave him whatever he needed when he asked for it. Howard just looked pale, wringing his hands nervously as Andy slowly removed each shard, one by one, until they were all out. "Needle, Krista," he said, gesturing. "And the thread." Krista nodded and pushed one end of the thread through the eye of the needle, flinching. "I don't know how you do this without feeling nervous, Andy," she said. He smiled. "Come on, Krista, weren't you the one that liked battles and blood?" he asked teasingly, trying to ease the tension. He took the needle and thread from her and began stitching, his mouth in a tight line. "Yah... but not like this..." she said, looking the other way, as Andy brought the needle in and out of Shelton's skin.

"It is a little disturbing," he admitted. "But it's got to be done." He pulled the needle through one last time and finished the stitching. "Okay, we're good. Can you go get some water?" Krista nodded and hurried out, happy to leave the scene. Howard glanced over Andy's shoulder and shuddered. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked nervously. Andy couldn't place his bloody hands on the boy's shoulder, but he elbowed him gently for comfort. "He'll be fine, Howard," he said. "It really isn't that bad. It just looks serious." Krista came back into the tent and handed him the bowl. "It's getting bad out there," she said. "The other guys think the enemy is moving in closer." Andy took the bowl and nodded, but said nothing. "He may wake up with an infection or a fever. Howard, can you watch him for me for a second? If he should wake up before I get back..." he took out several vials and began mixing them into a bottle. He sniffed it before closing it with a lid and shaking it. "...give him this, got it? It's an antibiotic." Howard nodded. "Where are you going?" he asked. Andy gave Krista sideways glance, and they shared a secret look. A worried look. "I'm going to go check out what the rest of the regiment is talking about. Stay here, understand? Don't leave him here alone." Howard just nodded again, but he noticed the looks the two had exchanged. Something was wrong, to make them nervous like that. "I got it, Andy," he said. "I'll be here until you get back."

"Thanks, Howard." And with that, Andy followed Krista out of the worn down tent.

Howard heard his watch ticking. _Tick, tick, tick_. Minutes passed by. Shelton was stirring. Andy and Krista were still not back. But he had to stay. He couldn't leave Shelton alone, although he was scared to death of what the man would say when he found it was them, alone. Shelton had been cruel to him. Shelton would probably still be cruel to him. The subject murmured something. Howard reached for his shoulder nervously. "Shelton?" he asked timidly. "Wha... what are you doing here, Whitehurst?" he slurred out. "Did that womanizer fix me?" Howard nodded his head quickly. "Yes... yes he did. He says you'll be fine now, but you need to take this..." he held up the bottle, "...to stop the infection you might have." Shelton tried to swipe it out of his hands, but stopped midway from the pain. "Here, I can give it to you," Howard said, but Shelton shook his head. "I got it, Whitehurst," he grunted, sitting up slowly. "Where is he? Barclay." Howard shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "He told me to stay here and watch you."

There were a million things that came to Shelton head about what he could say to Whitehurst right then, but he stopped. This boy had stayed here? And watched over him? Why? He studied the boy's thin quivering frame, from the small, dainty hands all the way up to the glasses that covered his child-like eyes, and suddenly realized something. This boy didn't belong here. This war was horrifying him, and he, Shelton, had done nothing to help it. Why he cared now, he didn't know. But he did, and it bothered him that he had been nothing but selfish and immature. There was no one out here to impress, no girl to show off his power over the weaklings to. Come to think of it, it didn't seem to work anyways. "Whitehurst," he said, taking the bottle. What was it the girls liked? He had seen it in the movies. What was it they liked again? "We've got to go out there. When I was hit, I saw..." he flinched as he tried to slowly heave himself up. "They were close. They're probably waiting to ambush us. But I wasn't sure." Howard grabbed his arm and tried as best to support him as Shelton hobbled out into the ruined land. Some of the other men were huddled, talking. Shelton reached them. "Where is Barclay?" he asked. They looked nervously amongst each other, until finally one spoke up. "He and De Silva went to scope out the southwestern border, where you came from," he began. "They were supposed to come back and tell us what they saw. We're planning an attack soon."

Shelton shook his head. "That way?" he asked, confirming where they'd gone. The men nodded. "They need more backup," he said stiffly. He looked at the boy who was holding him up. "Come on, Whitehurst," he said. "We're going." Some of the other soldiers protested, telling him he was injured, he shouldn't have to, they would go. But Shelton insisted. "He saved my life. I owe him. If he's in trouble, I want to be there for him, like he was for me." He couldn't believe some of the things he was saying. But he had been unfair to Andy, and this man had helped him anyway, with no hesitation. He owed this to him. So he took each step there, eventually ignoring the throbbing pain and telling Whitehurst that he could walk on his own now, and to follow behind.

They came upon Krista after a while, and she put a finger to her lips and beckoned them over. "He told me to stay here, and that he thought he saw something," she whispered, answering Shelton's repetitive question. "I've been waiting for what feels like hours, but the time is only seven minutes. I'm thinking, we wait three more, and if he doesn't come out, we go in after him. Sound legit?" They nodded, Shelton noticed but didn't mention that Howard was clinging his sleeve quite fiercely. The rock they hid behind was rough, and Shelton was finding it hard to lean against it. Time went by. Agonizing time. They had a minute left. No one spoke. There was a movement, but they weren't sure what it was. They waited some more. A figure came running towards them.

It was Andy. He was shouting something at them. "Get back! Get back!" he yelled. "Move back, now!" Krista stood, not sure if she should leave him or not. "Go back!" he shouted again, and then there was a loud explosion. Howard screamed, and Shelton shielded the boy with himself. Grabbing Krista's hand, he pulled her and Howard back as orange and yellow lights filled the sky, and pieces of wood and concrete flew everywhere. Krista was calling for Andy. Shelton looked around, looked for Andy, but there was smoke in the air, smoke all around them, and he couldn't see a thing. He had to take them back. He had to save them. He had to save them all, but where was Andy?

Where was Andy?

***

Chucky shook in his sleep, and loud sounds filled his mind. He clutched the pillow and cried softly.


	25. Breakdown

It was nearing nighttime, and the full moon was shining through the open window. Kyle was curled up on her couch, reading her most recent letter from Damien. From what he said, it was sounding as if the horrendous war was finally coming to its end. She leaned back into her sofa. They had expected to return a year and a half ago.

They were still writing letters.

She read each word. It seemed that things were clearing up now, he wrote. The war was dwindling, and rumors of a peace treaty were popular among the camp. He still missed her, and couldn't wait to come home. He hoped things were well with her. She smiled at some of the things he said, and gasped in surprise or horror at others. But it was the last phrase that she continued to meditate on.

_ I hope that when I return, you will find that I have become a man._

She bent over towards the table in front of her and picked up a pen. Thoughtfully she stared at a blank sheet of paper in front of her, remembering the first time she met him. Then she and begin to write, the only sound being the scratching of pen against paper and the dining room clock ticking away on the wall.

_ Dearest Damien,_

_I am happy to hear that you will be home soon. Funny, how I actually miss having you come to our sessions. When I have other patients, I find that many are so much more unpleasant than you were. Can you believe that? How I miss you. I come home from work tired, and I remember that you need a bed and rest much more than I do, and then I worry. I hope that these rumors are true, and that you will be with me again. There are so many things that have happened, and so many things that I wish to tell you, but I can't seem to find the words to write them down. I suppose it will have to wait until you are here. I will be waiting with open arms when you come home. And, Damien?_

_You were a man to me before you even left._

_Love Always,_

_Kyle  
><em>  
>***<p>

Three years. Karen was rinsing off one of the little girls juice cups. It was an old thing; the plastic cover was cracking and coming off in little pieces, floating around in the dishwater. She was nearing the end of the pile of dishes, and the soap bubbles in the sink were diminishing. She rubbed her itching forehead with her arm and continued to wash each dish, submerged in her thoughts. The cup used to belong to Andy. Eighteen years ago, he was a newborn baby. Seven days ago, it was his birthday. She wondered if he even remembered or celebrated it. It had been months since they'd received a letter from him, and it worried her. She told herself it was only her imagination, that Andy was fine, and that he'd be home soon, perhaps when the war was over. But still she couldn't help feeling as if something was wrong. Chucky's recurring nightmares didn't help her suspicions.

But then again, he had many of those, some of which didn't include Andy.

He was drying the dishes beside her quietly, and she knew he was thinking of Andy too. He had a certain wistful expression on his face when he did. Sometimes he told her how he felt. How he wanted Andy home. There were things he could not express, like his guilt. His sorrow. She didn't know how to help him. She didn't even know how to help herself. Some godmother she was turning out to be. She laughed at the thought, and in her mind, she told Elizabeth that maybe she should have picked someone else to watch over her son. Someone better. At least she had Mike. She felt at peace with him.

As far as she knew, that someone for Chucky was only Andy. She knew, somewhere inside, that Chucky would never truly feel alright until that young man came home alive. She was afraid of what would happen if he didn't. She was watching the boy as he ran the dishtowel around the cup. He looked gentle, but she knew what he was capable of. Suppose Andy didn't come home? Would he lose his sanity? Would that be the last straw? And what would she do: how could she help?

Would she be able to help?

She heard the doorbell ring, but she didn't answer it. Maggie was one her way, anyways. She felt the atmosphere stiffen. She glanced over at the boy, who continued drying dishes, but the look on his face gave it away. They were both wondering if it was him. If he had come home. It was a man's voice, she now realized. That's why they were both hoping like this. She let the plate she was scrubbing slip back under the dirty water and, drying her hands, went to the door, the boy walking slowly behind her. Maggie was already talking. Karen's heart sped up, then dropped. It wasn't Andy.

It was another boy from the army. He was lanky, and he looked worn and tired. But his eyes were sad and afraid. He had the look of the bearer of ill news. She moved forward to join Maggie to hear what he was saying, but she noticed that Chucky stayed behind. He was frozen stiff with eyes wide.

"Karen." Maggie was holding her arm. Karen felt her mouth go dry. She felt like she was in a nightmare. Perhaps she would wake up. "Who are you?" she asked slowly, softly. Like she was dead. "I'm... um… I'm Howard Whitehurst ma'am," he stuttered. He opened his mouth to speak again, but she beat him to it. "Where's Andy?" she asked. "Do you know him? Andy Barclay? He's my son. He's in the army, like you..." She realized that she was gripping Maggie's hand. The boy wrung his hands nervously. He was fidgeting. "Yes, ma'am. I knew... I know Andy," he corrected himself quickly. But Karen had caught on. "Where is he?" she asked again. "Where is my son?"

Whitehurst looked down, and his voice was shaking when he spoke. "Mrs. Barclay... I'm so sorry... I wish I didn't have to tell you this... but, Andy... he's..." he stopped, and cleared his throat. Karen felt her breath catch in her chest. "What happened to him," she whispered. Fear was rising in her voice. "He's... he's gone..." he said quietly. "What do you mean, he's gone?" Maggie asked. Karen just shrank. Her hands were shaking. "We- Andy and I and two others- we were scoping out something suspicious behind enemy lines," he began. "I... we tried to stop him, but he went on ahead. There was an explosion..." his eyes were watering. "So he's...?" Maggie started, but Whitehurst shook his head. "He's not confirmed dead, ma'am," he said. "His body wasn't found. But if it wasn't for him, we could have all been dead."

Karen laid her head on Maggie's shoulder. "My son... my sweet Andy... why..." she choked. Maggie glanced back at the boy in the hall, but said nothing. His face was blank and unreadable, but his hands were clinging to the old dishtowel. The soldier was standing awkwardly. "I... I'm so sorry..." he said again. "I hope he's found. I do. He was- is- a brave soul. He saved our lives, he did..."

Maggie's gaze remained on Charles. "What?" he finally snapped, unusual for his current behavior. "Why are you looking at me? Like I care! I knew this would happen! I don't care. I don't care about Andy. I'm glad he's missing, and I hope he's dead!" Whirling around, he stomped up the stairs, the dish towel left on the floor. One of the little girls came running out of the room, shouting if that was Andy home. Karen was silent, except for the sobs. Maggie looked at the surprised soldier. "He doesn't mean that..." she said. But she wondered. A door slammed shut somewhere.

"Do you need to stay for the night?" she asked him. "We have plenty of room." He shook his head. "No. Thank you kindly, ma'am, but my mother's waiting for me at home. I'm so sorry, again." He tipped his hat, and turned slowly from them, tears in his eyes. The women watched him walk toward the vehicle where the driver was waiting. They watched the door shut and it drive off, down the road, away from them, dragging the hopes they had had away with it.

Maggie shut the door after a while. Karen glanced up the stairs. "He probably just needs time," Maggie said quietly. Karen nodded, hoping she was right, but her fears were now gnawing at her, and she wondered what the boy was doing now. She wondered if chaos would follow. Either way, it would be a long night.

***

The drive was silent. "Do I turn here?" Shelton asked quietly. Whitehurst only nodded. The only noise was the engine as the vehicle went up the street towards the young man's home. Shelton waited a few more noiseless seconds before clearing his throat and speaking again. "It'll be nice to see you family again, huh?" he asked. Again, the boy only nodded. His eyes were brimmed with tears, and Shelton could see him blink furiously as he tried not to cry. Shelton turned his eyes back on the road, but his mind was wandering. He felt it was his fault. That this was all his fault. He should have been able to save Andy. To find him. He had owed that to Andy. He was frustrated, and hurt, and he was having a hard time keeping the lump down in his chest instead of crawling up his throat.

Whitehurst finally spoke up when they reached his house. "Here," he said. Shelton slowed and stopped, changing the gears to park. Whitehurst unbuckled himself. "Thank you," he said quietly. He opened the door and stepped out. Shelton watched him. Watched his small frame, which seemed to have shrunk since their stop at Barclay's house. Perhaps he should have gone with him to tell the news. It was his fault. He got out of the vehicle. Ran after Whitehurst. "Wait!" he called. The boy turned. "Did I forget something?" he was asking. Shelton didn't reply. He embraced him tightly. Whitehurst began to cry. "I hated having to tell them that," he sobbed. "You should have seen their faces, Shelton, they were torn apart..." his hands were curling up into small fists against his chest."I'm sorry, Howard," he replied hoarsely. It was the first time he'd called the boy by his first name. Like they were friends.

He supposed they were, after all they'd gone through.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked after a while. Howard looked up. and sniffed. "No," he said hastily, wiping his eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry for all of that. I'm alright now." At Shelton's hesitation, he stood straight and put his hands to his sides. "I am. Really. Thank you." He turned towards his front steps. Shelton put a hand on his shoulder. "Howard," he said. The boy looked back at him. "Please. If you want... we can always... you know. I'm here." Howard nodded. He hugged the brawny man around the neck. "You're not so bad, Brett," he whispered in his ear. Then he went into the house.

Shelton watched him. He slowly walked back to his car. He was going home, but he felt empty. Now he knew what it was all about. War. It wasn't all glory and fame. It was terrible. For the life of him, he wished that the thing was never invented. He looked at the rearview mirror. There was a car following him. It had been there near Whitehurst's house. Strange. Shrugging it off, he glanced down at the gas meter, which was almost empty. He'd have to pull in at a gas station soon.

Was it strange that he was here now, worrying about gas? When a moment ago, he was worried about life?

There was a Shell up ahead. He pulled in, the brakes squeaking as he stopped against one of the pumps. He had already plugged in the pump when he heard a knock on the car. He looked up. "Quanisha," he said. He didn't know what else to say. Why was she here? The last time he'd spoken to her, she had blown him off. She cocked her head slowly. "I saw what you did back there," she said. He knew what she was talking about. That car in the neighborhood was hers. "Oh, I... he was just... I was just helping..." he said, feeling sheepish, but he didn't know why. She was smiling. "That was real nice of you, Brett," she said. "The nicest thing I've ever seen you do." He grinned sadly. "Isn't that terrible?" he asked. "Nicest thing I've done... only nice thing I've done..." he brushed at his stinging eyes, and tried to give a small laugh. "No wonder you hate my guts."

Quanisha waited until he finished filling the tank. Then she put her hand on his face. "I never hated you Brett," she said softly, tears forming on her eyes. He turned to her, waiting for her to speak, hanging on her every word. "I was just waiting for you to realize why..." He put his arms around her. They drew close. Their noses touched.

Then they locked lips. It was something they'd both waited to do for a long time.

***

Maggie had told Karen not to worry. To go to bed. Sleep. Mike was coming home from work soon. She could tell him when he got home. Karen had resisted, but Maggie insisted. "Sometimes just being alone to sort it out helps," she told her. Then she sent her friend to her room, assuring her she would take care of things.

By things, she meant Charles.

She had waited for him to come out. But he hadn't. She had waited for a sound. There had been none. She was beginning to feel a prickling worry. She was pacing the hallway, debating on what to do. She would reach toward the door knob, then pull back. Like Karen, she remembered what he was capable of. His outburst of anger frightened her. What did that mean? Was he teetering towards insanity? It was too quiet in there. Bracing herself, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"Stop! Don't you dare come any closer!" Maggie froze. The boy was standing, a scowl deeply embedded into his forehead. He was holding a gun- where did he get that?- in his hands. "If you come towards me, I will kill you." His voice sounded like he meant it. But his eyes were telling on him. Telling different stories. "Chucky," Maggie began. "You put that gun down. Right now. I mean it. Now." She took a step forward, and he aimed it at her. "I'll shoot!" he protested. "You promised, Chucky," she continued calmly. "You said if I let you back in, I wouldn't be sorry. Remember? Do as I say. Put it down." She stepped forward again. He put his finger on the trigger. "I will! I'm going to shoot you. Go away!" he started screaming. "Go!" Maggie jumped to his side and grabbed his hand, wrenching the gun away. It spun on the floor, water leaking out.

A water gun. Of course. She should have seen it wasn't a real one. She held him tightly. "What are you doing? Scaring me like that! Karen is trying to sleep, and you're little drama here will wake her up!" He struggled against her. "Look at me," she said, holding his face up. His face was twisting into different emotions. "Leave me alone," he said again. "Go away…" She held onto him tighter still, keeping him there, even as he squirmed, until he broke down and cried. "This is all my fault…" he said, small fists tucked into his eyes. "Even without trying, I send someone to their death…" he said more incomprehensible words, things Maggie couldn't understand. "This isn't your fault, Chucky," she said quietly, holding him. "We don't even know if he's dead."

"Don't act like you don't know," he said bitterly. "He is. There's no way he is alive. They would have found him. He's dead. It's the way it has to be. Because of me." Maggie shook her head. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Because," he answered. "Because. All my life, I've taken other people's loved ones away. It's only fair that I lose someone I love too…" he wiped his eyes. "It's just the way it has to be." Maggie looked down at him. "You listen to me, Charles Lee Ray," she said seriously. "You of all people should know the world does not revolve around you. Maybe because Karen deserves it, he's alive. Maybe because you've come back to us and you've repented, he'll be alive for you." He was watching her. There were tears still on his face, but he was only sniffling now. "You really think so?" he asked hopefully. "You think maybe he'll come back?"

Maggie shrugged. "I'll be truthful with you Chucky, I don't know," she said softly. "But we can hope. And we can live like he will. If he comes back, we want to be waiting for him don't we?" He nodded and wiped the stray tears away. "I hope he comes back," he said longingly as he leaned against her. "I want to make it up to him for everything I've done."

_I want to tell him everything I've never told him.  
><em>

_I want to tell him I love him…_


	26. Lassie Come Home

Moonlight was shining through the big window. Such a beautiful night, but the boy couldn't care less. He had tip-toed out of his room and crept down the stairs, careful not to wake anyone. He put his small fingers up against the frosted window pane, taking in the coolness of the glass. He watched the night pass by, not noticing the hours chime away on the old clock in the hall. He sniffled, trying to hold back tears. He'd been crying for too many nights. He leaned his hot cheek on the window. He was still taking in the fact that Andy was gone. A tear escaped his eye, but he caught it hastily. He swallowed, trying to push down the lump in his throat. It hurt.

"Chucky? What are you doing still up?" He jumped at Mrs. Barclay's voice. "I... I couldn't sleep," he whispered hoarsely. Karen frowned; he had gotten a sudden raging fever a few days after the news. His voice still sounded raw and painful. She saw him still looking out the window longingly. She sighed and put her hands on his shoulders. "I know," she said softly. "Sometimes, I look out there, and I hope the same thing. I keep wishing that someday, sometime, I'll look out this window and see him. That I'll see my baby come home, alive and well." The boy said nothing, but she knew he understood. "Don't stay up too late, okay?" she said. "It's not good for you." He nodded, but he didn't move from his position.

She climbed back up the stairs, but not before mentioning that maybe reading a good book or two would help. "Maggie's got some old classics on the book shelf here," she had said. The boy turned to look at them. He remembered reading in school, a long time ago. He also remembered a six year old boy, with soft brown eyes, reading to him. He shuffled over to the shelf, his eyes sifting through the books until he found one whose title caught his eye. It had a collie dog on the cover, by Eric Knight. Taking it with him, he curled back up against the window, opened the book, and began to read:

_ "Everyone in Greenall Bridge knew Sam Carraclough's Lassie. In fact, you might say that she was the best known dog in the village- and for three reasons. First, because nearly every man in the village agreed she was the finest collie he had ever laid eyes on..."_

They were not allowed to touch him, the man of the enemy. The boys didn't care less. But the girls would stop when they passed by, twirl their hair and giggle nervously to one another about the handsome stranger from the other side. He was not like the rumors they'd heard about the enemy. He was quiet, and he smiled, even from behind the bars. But there was talk about him. The soldiers said he had survived the fires of hell. That when the ground shook and cracked, and when the sky went dark, he had come out alive. He was dangerous, and that was why he had to be kept where he was.

Still, that was hard to believe when he had a kind face. Not to mention an attractive one.

_"The boy stared at his plate, unmoving.  
>'Come on Joe. Eat your bread and butter. Look-nice new bread, I just baked today. Don't ye want it?'<br>The boy bent his head lower.  
>'I don't want any,' he said in a whisper... 'I only want- Lassie!'"<em>

He was not eating very well. Karen and Maggie worried. "Come on, Chucky, you can't waste away," Maggie said kindly. "The little Sarah's are enjoying the food, aren't you girls?" The little ones nodded their heads eagerly. "Yes! Green beans are my favorite!" one piped. The other elbowed her. "They're kind of nasty, Sarah!" she said. "The meatloaf is better! Especially with pepper..." They made a grab for the pepper shaker and squabbled over it until Karen made them share.

The boy didn't say anything. He just moved his food around his plate with his fork.

_ "...Priscilla saw, lying there, a great black-white-and-golden-sable collie. It lay with its head across its front paws, the delicate darkness of the aristocratic head showing plainly against the snow-whitness of the expansive ruff and apron...Priscilla bent down and, clapping her hands, called quickly: 'Come collie, Come over here! Come see me! Come!' For just one second the great brown eyes of the collie turned to the girl, deep brown eyes that seemed full of brooding and sadness. Then they turned back to mere empty staring..."_

There was a little girl in the village. She chatted happily with the prisoner. While most parents would have discouraged her, hers did not. They noticed some difference about the stranger. He had kind eyes. Brown, like theirs, but in the sun, they shone with gold, like an angel's. He smiled pleasantly, even in his small imprisoned cell, and dealt with the humiliation and hatred of the villagers as if it were simple play. As much as they were told that he was horrid, they wouldn't believe it. No unkind human would treat their daughter as he did. He laughed at what she said, and spoke back, and although neither could understand the other, they had a bond. And there was something to be said about that.

The father did not like the way the guards treated him. His wife wanted to get him out. "He probably child of his own," she said. "Look at how he treats our daughter. Like his own." Jesse nodded grimly. It would be hard, to get him out. It would cost them much. But it was the right thing to do. And their daughter would want him to be free. She already did, asking them why her friend was not allowed to play with her outside.

So, one night, they snuck him out. They knew from his face that he was thanking them, but they hurried him out of the village. They offered him a ride, but he shook his head. Then he was gone. To home, wherever that was.

_"...The rain and the splashed earth now made the beautiful expanse of her coat tarnished and spotted. But she kept going steadily, going to the south. For the next four days, Lassie traveled without pause, resting only briefly during the nights. The urge to travel south burned in her like a fever, and nothing could replace it. On the fifth day a new demand began to gnaw at her senses. It was the call of hunger. The command to travel had blotted it out at first, but now it was insistent... her senses were drawn to something else-the warm blood smell of the rabbit that lay on the path. For a long time she regarded it. She came nearer, bending her head warily, as if ready to spring away. For, though the blood smell of food was there, the scent of the weasel lingered, too. Carefully her nose came nearer and nearer until it touched the freshly killed quarry. She drew back and walked around it. Then she came near, bent her head, and picked up the game. She lifted her head again and waited... After that she had a newly acquired sense. She had learned the smell of rabbit. Instinct told her the rest. As she traveled along, whenever her keen nose told her of the nearness of game, she became a hunter. She scouted and ran and caught it, and she ate. It was the sensible law of nature. She did not kill wantonly as man often does. She killed to live, and no more... And the heart was gallant, and the instinct was true. And so the dog went, day after day, steadily south in the Highlands, over braken and heather, through the hill-land and plain, through stream and woodland-ever going steadily, always south..."_

It was raining again. The man with the angel eyes watched the water fall from the sky. Holding his arms against his broad chest, he knew that was the least of his worries. He had been walking for days, not knowing exactly where he was, with no one nearby or in sight. To make things worse, he was hungry. He was beginning to feel his stomach gnaw at him. He tried to ignore it, but it only worsened as the hours dragged by.

He had a gun. He had never tried to hunt before, but it would seem that now it was necessary. Trying his best to sneak on game, he finally caught a small rabbit. Silently he apologized to it, feeling terrible for eating a baby. Then he skinned it and set up a fire to cook it, and ate it, feeling replenished.

He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he had to keep walking. He had to get home. There were people waiting for him, and he had promised he would be home. Not the wind, the rain, or his hunger would stop him. He had made a promise, no matter what. And he would keep that promise.

_ "...Lassie trotted from a thicket and came to the shore. She was moving more slowly now, for the pads of her feet were bruised and sore, and in the delicate membrane between those pads on the right a thorn was festering. Nor was her head as high now, and there was less confidence in her way of going.  
>"Often, at times, it seemed as if she had forgotten why she was on her endless journey. But this was never for long, and now her pace became steady again, and she quickened it, carrying herself so that her afflicted paw took less weight..."<em>

He had twisted his ankle. It burned, but there was nothing he could do. The guards had taken his medicine bag when they had taken him as a prisoner. He flinched with pain each time he took a step, and it made his wandering all the harder. Sometimes, he'd sit for longer than usual during the day, and rested for many more hours that he planned. Worse, sometimes he'd just want to lay there until he had wasted away. He was tired of wandering, paining his ankle to the brink of breaking, and still being just as lost at the end of the day. But there were blue eyes on his mind, blue eyes that he had made promises too. And so he knew that he must not give up, that he had to keep on going, until he found them, those eyes that hoped and needed so much.

He had seen lights up ahead through the trees. He coughed blood into his hand, then wiped it away. He had no time to deal with that now. He would deal with it when he found a place to rest. But it was more serious than he had thought it was, and it was getting dark. He kept following the lights until he came upon a town, but just as he stumbled across the friendly sign that welcomed newcomers, he slumped against an old building and closed his eyes.

Hours passed, and he didn't open them again.

_"...'Go easy Dan, now," she said. "Oh, puir, puir thing!" She ran ahead of him to open the door. Panting, the old man struggled in. The door slammed the two old people brought Lassie into the warmth of the hearth and laid her on the rug. They stood back a moment, looking at her. Lassie lay with her eyes closed. 'I doubt it'll live till the morn,' the man said..."_

"Do you suppose we should call the medic?" she was asking. Her husband grabbed her arm. "Look, he's moving." She turned her eyes on him, and saw that, indeed, he was moving. He opened his eyes and blinked quickly, taking in the light. "Quick, get some blankets, Jesse," she said. Then she put a hand on the man's arm. "Hello? Are you conscious?" she asked. The stranger looked around himself and took in his surroundings. "Where am I?" he spoke groggily. "You're in Benbrook, Texas. You lost? We found you, passed out. We brought you here, Jesse and I..."  
>"You making him dizzier, Jayde?" a man's voice called. The stranger looked up towards the voice. He was carrying thick blankets. "No," the stranger said. "I can't stay. I have to go. I've got to get home." The woman, Jayde, hushed him. "Nonsense," she said. "Not in the state you're in. You'll get fixed up before you go anywhere."<p>

He opened his mouth to argue, then decided against it. He was terribly dizzy.

_ "For a second, the old woman wished to call- to call the the dog back to her and try again to wean its mind from old memories. But she was too honest. She lifted her head, and her aged voice came clearly. 'It's all richt then, dog. If ye must go- awa' wi' ye.'"_

It was a week later when they finally let him go. "Thank you," he told them. "I am grateful. You understand, though, that I have to leave. Someone is waiting for me." They nodded, and embraced him good-bye before watching him board a bus. "How romantic," Jayde muttered. "What?" Jesse asked. "If you got lost in a war, would you come home to find me, no matter what?" she asked. He smiled and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Of course," he said softly. "Of course."

_"...She knew that at last the terrible driving instinct was at peace. She was at the place. She had kept her lifelong rendevous..."_


	27. Early Spring Showers

Early spring was cold, but not frigid. It had a crisp, biting coolness to it, and the sky seemed to have brighter, clearer colors. The air seemed fresh. It was no wonder spring was thought of where new beginnings were born. It was still too cool, however, for the plants not to freeze to death, and the boy did hate seeing them die. So, every morning, he would go to the shed to find an old watering can. Then he'd take it to the flowers and thaw them out.

He had been doing it for a while now. Tending to the plants. It kept him going. Lately he'd been having trouble with a serious case of depression, and finally, he had been told he needed to find something to cheer him up. A hobby. He smiled grimly at the memory. Even as he watered the small rosebuds, he still felt that lingering emptiness. A longing for something- someone- long gone. It still hurt as if it had been yesterday, when he was told Andy was missing. For a long while, he had hoped he would come back. He had believed he would come back. After all, Andy had promised he would return.

The boy knew that promises like that could not be kept. Not when it came to life. His father had promised to come back, too. But in a way, he hadn't.

He also enjoyed the peaceful quiet he could have without anyone worrying. When he tried to seclude himself in the house, Mrs. Norris or Maggie would fuss over him. Sometimes Johnny would look guiltily at him, and the boy knew he wondered if it was his fault. But out here, they knew he was watering the garden, and they felt safer with that in mind. And he could let his heart ache without bothering a soul. He touched one of the budding plants tenderly, muttering to it. There was morning dew on his shoes and trousers, and some of it had seeped through and began to chill him.

He heard laughter in the house. He recognized each one. Mr. Mike Norris had a short, broken laugh, like comedians. Mrs. Norris had a sad laugh. Andy was her son, and the boy knew that though she laughed, somewhere inside, she still felt the hole in her heart. The place where her son used to be. He sighed heavily as he took the bucket to the next row, carefully watering the azaleas. At least, he thought to himself, here is one thing I haven't harmed.

Yet.

It was the guilt that clung the most. He had depended on Andy's return for so many reasons. He was holding in guilt for what he'd done, and he felt that if only Andy could come home, everything would be alright. Karen would not need to remember her son was dead because of him. If Andy could just come home, he could tell him how sorry he was. How he loved him. How he would do anything to make it up to him.

But, Andy did not come. It had been a year since the war had ended, and he had not come. A year since he had been reported missing. Surely, if he had not died in the explosion, he had died of hunger or dehydration or God knows what else. And it was his fault. For ruining his life. Sweet Andy, who had done nothing but love him, had been betrayed by him. The boy sniffed and convinced himself that it was the cold air making his eyes water and his nose run. He was still struggling with sleeping at night. He still woke with terrible fits and coughs. He always woke them, and he felt terrible. For being such a burden.

And he should have known not to hope for Andy. He didn't deserve it at all, to have him back. Of course Andy would die in the war, it was fate, it was justice. So, although it hurt so much, he held up his head, pasted a smile, and told everyone he would be alright. Because he was serving his punishment. He had also hoped the boy with those gorgeous eyes would return because he loved him. And he needed someone to love him back. But of course, he didn't deserve that either.

His fingers were numb as they held onto the can, but he barely noticed it. His mind was far away, remembering him. Andy. The first time he saw him, so long ago, when he was lost. When Karen had first given him to Andy, when he was a doll. How Andy had smiled and held him close, and thanked his mother. He had told her that the doll was the best thing ever. Unconsciously he clenched his hands around the handle of the can. That was all Andy had wanted. And he, Charles Lee Ray, had spoiled it. Like he did all the time. 

He had broken a dish the other day. And of course, Maggie had told him _it was no_ _big deal, people broke things all the time,_ but still, he knew. He was an expert at breaking things, at tearing things apart. Maybe that was because he had been torn apart. But he shouldn't have been so stupid. That was why he had gotten hurt. Because he was so terribly dumb. Especially when it came to people. He always made the wrong decision. 

He was crying now. It came out in quiet, ragged, gasps- but it was crying nonetheless, and try as he might, he could not deny it. He was lost. Here in a home with people who said they loved him, and he was lost. He felt so selfish; what more could he ask for? He shouldn't ask for more. It was already more than he deserved to have them, and he could ask for nothing else. But he couldn't help those nights where he would have vivid dreams of warm arms wrapping themselves around him. He couldn't help that he'd awaken in bliss, only to realize he was only dreaming. He couldn't help when he had to bury his face in his hands and sob for him, sob for Andy.

He had never felt Andy hug him again since the day he betrayed him.

He didn't notice the tired footsteps. They were walking like one who hadn't slept in days, and truly, the one who the steps belonged to hadn't slept or rested in a while. They were coming up the path that they had walked long ago, when they had left. The eyes of the steps saw him, the boy, and they knew, they knew that they had made it home at last. The face was burning with sickness, and one of the legs was limping in pain. The throat wanted to call out to the boy, to call his name, but the energy had been spent on walking to get there, and instead, the eyes closed for a moment to regain balance before the knees gave way and crumbled against the ground.

The boy felt a presence behind him. He didn't know why, but his mind was telling him to turn around. Perhaps there was a deer there. Slowly, so he wouldn't frighten it away, he pivoted his body to face the road, the one place he never looked anymore because it made him hope too much. He turned, and he wanted to openly sob to the heavens at what he saw, but instead dropped the watering can. And he told himself, it wasn't real, this was a dream, he would only wake to find it not true.

And the eyes of the steps looked up. The ears had heard the sound something falling. The eyes looked up and saw his face, saw the blue eyes that the mind had dreamed and thought of since the day they had left. The lips moved, mouthing the name. The voice finally found its way out. "Chucky…"

The boy stepped toward him cautiously."I am dreaming, aren't I?" he said slowly. His eyes were wide with fear. "I've had so many dreams of you, Andy. Tell me, tell me you're really here," here his eyes began to water, "Tell me I'm not dreaming. Tell me the never-ending nightmare is over…" The steps, the eyes, the voice, they collided. They looked at the boy. "It's me, Chucky," the voice said softly. "I've been through hell and beyond, but I'm home. I'm here. See for yourself."

He had reached him now, the dream that said he was not a dream. He reached out to touch his hands, and they felt so real, too real to be a dream, but it was still so hard to believe! He held the hand close to him, felt the warmth of life pulsating from it, and he knew that it was true, believed it was true. He cried, softly, and then lifted his face to him, the man come home, and he cried.

"I'm sorry, Andy…I stopped waiting for you… I thought… I didn't know! And it's been so long! And I've missed you! I've missed you so much, I can't even begin…" and his words were lost, and Andy fell to his knees, because he had run out of strength to stand, but also because he needed to embrace the small one, to envelope him and let him know he had come home, and things would be alright now. "It's alright now, Chucky," he said softly, tenderly. Holding something so familiar, because he had held the boy once, long ago, and loved him like this. He kissed the tear-stricken face and tasted the salty tears, and murmured to him softly, "I'm home. I'm here now, and I'll take care of you. There's no need to cry anymore. I'm here."

And the boy held onto him, the tears making up for what could not be said in words. The sun began to rise into the clear blue sky, looking like glass. The dew was shining in the grass around them, and not another sound was heard, save for the dripping from the forgotten watering can in the garden.


	28. Where The Story Leaves Us

Swings were in full motion, and the park was full of life. The warmth of summer was just starting to seep in, and people of all ages were outside, soaking in the sun and the summer breeze. The game of tag or Frisbee was played here and there among different groups of people. Seesaws creaked, and slides shook as children played on them enthusiastically.

Some, however, chose to enjoy the park in a more peaceful manner.

It was Andy and Chucky. Since the young soldier's miraculous return, the boy had spent every waking moment with him. So much that sometimes Andy worried for him. An example of this was when one night, Chucky did not want to go to sleep. "You've got to get some rest, Chucky," Andy would coax. But the boy had shook his head and held onto him, whimpering. "I don't want to waste a single second that I could have with you..." he'd say. And so Andy would stay with him at night, cradling the small body against his broad chest as carefully as if he were holding a newborn child, watching the lids of his eyes finally close in gentle slumber. And Andy would wonder, was it possible that this was alright, that the boy would want him so desperately?

Sometimes they would fight. Neither could remember what about, but it would end loudly. And then the boy would slam the doors or throw things, telling Andy to "go away." But when it was over, and the mysterious storm had passed, the boy would find him, and apologize pitifully until he relented and let him curl up in his lap, and they would sit there for a moment, bonding in silence. Andy slowly began to realize that the boy would push him away because he felt undeserving, dirty, and so slowly he began not to respond so harshly just leave, waiting for the boy to come back to his senses.

As of the present, they were resting on a blanket. Krista had set up a picnic, celebrating the return of Quanisha's mother and John Simonsen from their honeymoon. The newlywed couple was among the group of adults who had started a game of ultimate Frisbee. Maggie, who was now the bride of Johnny, and had been for a while, was still as bouncy and outrageous as ever, and Andy found himself shaking his head and laughing at her.

He had started to get comfortable with lying there, Chucky cuddled up against him, fingers entangled in the soft doll-like hair, when he heard a loud voice behind him. "Yo, Andy, you still old and tired from the war? Boy you like twenty. Get a move on!" He laughed and ducked the blow from the pop-star. "Cut it out, 'Nisha, don't you have other people to bop on the head?" he asked playfully. The girl grinned deviously and tugged at the belt loop of her now boyfriend's trousers. "Maybe. What you think, Brett? Your head need some bopping?" Brett Shelton made a face at her, and then teasingly pulled her hair. "Sure, right now?" he asked, sending her in spasms of laughter. "Where's Krista gone off too?" Andy asked casually, slipping his fingers down the nape of the boy's neck. He noticed that Chucky would just watch him sometimes, and he didn't know why, but he didn't mind at all.

Quanisha just looked around. "I dunno. She was textin' what's her name... Ellen? That red-head friend of mine was with Howard at the ice-cream truck like, two seconds ago..." she glanced off in the direction of the infamous truck, then pointed. "There they go. They'll be here." Andy looked down at the boy, who was still just pressed against him. "You want some, Chucky?" he asked, gesturing to where Quanisha had pointed. He shrugged. "I don't care," he said, coughing softly. The sickness in his lungs seemed to have lessened, and although once in a while it came back, it was never as serious as it had once been. "I just want to be with you." (This earned an _'awww...'_ from Quanisha, who said that perhaps she would write a song about that.) Andy just rolled his eyes in amusement.

Chucky smiled to himself and closed his eyes. He could just go to sleep like this. The very beat of Andy's heart was cajoling, but the feel of his voice as it rumbled deep in his chest was simply marvelous. He put his hand where the young man's heart would be and let the thudding pulse through his tiny palm. There was a breeze coming by just then, and he was feeling himself drift off when he heard a sound. A loud bright sound of a child's voice. A female child's voice.

"I know you!" she said. He cracked open his eyes to see the bright purple rubber boots. They had some mud caked on them and he assumed it was from how this particular character ran around in the rain. He remembered that this was how he first met her, some time ago. "H...hi," he said, sleepily and rather shyly, though he didn't know why. She wasn't a total stranger, after all. "Yah, I saw you when you was crying," she concluded. She looked at Andy, then back to him. "You wanna play on the swings?" she asked. "I can push you, and you can push me. We can take turns!" Chucky gulped nervously and looked up at Andy. The young man smiled down at him in amusement. "Go on, you can play," he said. At the boy's hesitation, he gave him a little nudge. "I'll still be here when you come back, Chucky," he said softly. "I promise." Then he rolled over, his back on the blanket, and said louder, "He'd love to play with you, right, Chucky?"

Chucky nodded slowly, and the girl smiled widely. "Chucky. I'm Tiffany. You can be my new friend. There's my mama. Hi Mommy! This is my friend! We're gonna swing!" she shouted to the woman, who smiled and waved back. She pulled at the boy's arm. "C'mon Chucky, we gotta go before all the swings are taken away!" she shouted. The boy stood, and with one last look at Andy, trotted behind her to the swing set.

"Aww, he's made a new friend?" Krista had come back with Howard and Ellen behind her. "Yah," Andy chuckled. "He was a little shy about it, but I think he'll have fun." When the childhood friend sat beside him, he tugged her ponytail teasingly, like they used to as kids. "I, remember being shy about you, and, I mean, you weren't _that_ bad..." Krista punched him lightly. "Oh, not so bad?" she asked. "What do you mean? That I was kind of bad, Andy Barclay?" He laughed openly at that. "Guys guys, look, this is so romantic!" Ellen was saying as she scrolled through a text on her phone. "On the news, look, there was this guy who came home from the war, and he proposed to his psychologist! And she said yes! Like, how awesome is that?" Krista took the phone from her so she and Andy could see. "Oh, I know her!" Andy exclaimed. "She was at my mom's wedding. Kyle! I _knew_ I remembered her. She used to babysit me, back when I was like, six." His eyes turned to his mother, who was picked up by Mike and swung over his shoulders. She was screaming at him to put her down, but a smile was on her face. A wide grin, like the one she wore back when Andy was young. He found himself slowly submerging in old memories from long ago happiness...

Chucky, on the other side of the playground, was pushing the little girl as high as he could. "I like ponies, and butterflies, and snakes..." she was saying. "Snakes?" he asked. That was strange for a girl to like ponies and snakes at the same time. "Yah! They're so slippery!" she giggled, swinging her booted feet in the air as she flew back and forth in the air. Chucky opened his mouth to respond, but she had already babbled on. "Momma says she wanted three kids. I want two. A little boy and a little girl. I'd name one Glenda, like the good witch from Oz, but what would I call the boy? I just don't know..." she had paused in silence, and the boy stopped pushing, thinking. "If they were twins, you could call him Glen," he suggested shyly. "Right?" She scraped her boots against the ground so she could turn and face him. "Glen!" she shouted. "That's so awesome! You're so cool! I KNEW I'd like you, I just knew it! Glen, Glen, Glen," she sang. "Push me higher, Chucky!"

Andy saw the boy smile. He was glad he was having fun. It was so nice to see the grin break through on what was usually a pained face. For once, he saw Chucky just having fun. It was ironic, he thought, that the killer-turned-doll turned into a boy. Like maybe he was having a second chance at a new life. Hopefully a good one. Watching the boy push the little blonde girl in the swing, he vowed to himself just that. He would love this boy, and make sure he never was hurt so terribly as he was once long ago. He would protect him for the rest of his life.

The hours passed by so quickly that Chucky hadn't even noticed how late it was until the girl's mother called. "Tiffany! Come on honey, we've got to go!" The girl surprised him with a quick, tight squeeze. "Like a cobra hug," she crowed happily. It took a moment, but he slowly wrapped his arms around her before she took off, running into her mother's legs, most likely retelling the events of her day.

He quickly turned, searching for something. His heart stopped beating for a second. Then he calmed as his eyes slowly found him. Andy. He sighed happily and walked to him, the boy he loved. The man he loved. And he was still there, waiting for him. He didn't leave, just like he promised. He was sitting on the blanket, talking to the girl, Krista. He sat down next to him and gently took his hand. Andy looked down at him contentedly. "Have fun?" he asked. Chucky nodded. Andy laughed softly and put his arm around the small boy. "C'mon, Chucky," he said. "Let's go home."

Home. It was such a nice word. And the boy knew that it didn't matter where he was, as long as Andy was there, he would always be home.


End file.
